World War Z: The Chronicles of Dante
by Robert H. Gordon Jr
Summary: The compiled oral accounts of a mysterious wanderer during the events of World War Z
1. Introduction & Chapter I

World War Z:

The Chronicles of Dante

**Fireworks blast into the night as New York City celebrates the twentieth anniversary of V-A Day. The festivities began sometime at six this morning and will continue long into the night. Celebrating my own triumph I gorged myself on wife, wine, and song for most of the day and now I am tired. Our little ones watch the fireworks with the typical awe-struck wonder of children. To them, this is a holiday of cookouts, family gatherings, and boring television filled with documentaries of the Plague Years. They are too young to remember the horrors of that time, thank God.**

**Over the radio, the broadcaster begins his recitation of the names of those heroes of the war that have died in the past year. The list is longer this year than it has been in years past. As I listen I wonder what life was like for those brave souls who rose up and saved us from the soulless. My younger children squeal with delight as one of the larger fireworks shakes the sky. As it ignites it sends a spray of burning colors in all directions. I remember the first celebration of V-A Day.**

**I was a teenager. I was outside at the time and word came over Radio Free Earth at first, then the televisions came to life with newscasters barely containing their joy, some of them openly weeping as they announced that American forces had reached the eastern seaboard and the war was over. We danced in the streets, yelling and screaming as if we were the ones who had banished the plague from the country. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. My attention is drawn back to the radio as the broadcaster completes his list. Again, as with every year since the first V-A Day, there is one name missing. It is missing from nearly every memorial in this country and for three long years it has been the sole focus of my life.**

**Say the name "Dante" to anyone who survived Stalemate on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains and you will likely be greeted with an urban legend-style story of some great deed done by the man. To most, he is a myth, his heralded actions seeming almost impossible for one person to accomplish. While offering the record of an ARO (Advanced Reconnaissance Operative) known as "D", the official position of the United States Government is that the man known as Dante did not exist. This does not sway those who believe and those who claim to know. Dante's life and deeds are a matter of fact to them. **

**No one is sure where he came from and no one is sure how long he lived. No one is sure whether he was Christian, Muslim, or Jewish, whether he was a vegetarian, a morning person, or a football fan. Even the date of his birth and his ultimate time of death are subject for debate. One thing is certain, if he only performed a fraction of the deeds he was meant to have done, he is worthy of mention with every utterance of World War Z heroism.**

**What follows is the fruit of my labors. It is a compilation of oral accounts from those who claim to have knowledge of the man known simply as Dante. I have compiled them in chronological order so that you, the reader, can get a full grasp of what is known from start to finish. I cannot fully attest to the validity of all of the items chronicled here as most are culled from memories of a time that all of us wish to forget. What I can offer is the assurance that my research is as complete as I can make it. It is my goal to present the best possible tribute to a man that meant so much to so many, but is acknowledged by so few. I pray I have done him justice. Here's to you, Dante…**

**Chapter I**

**The Legend Begins**

**(My research has brought me to the home of one Jasper Dawkins. He has requested that I do not reveal the exact location of his home, however it is a moderately sized two-story colonial built in the western foothills of the Rockies, there have been post-war renovations done with the addition of castle-style battlements and even a five-foot wide moat that Jasper boasts is ten feet deep. My host extends a metal bridge so that I can cross. A bear of a man, my hand disappears inside his as he greets me, a smile creasing a gray bushy beard. He ushers me across the bridge, retracting it as we venture inside.)**

You can't be too careful. There was a small outbreak last month. You'd think people would get the hint, even after twenty years. They're starting to get complacent again. Did you know the author of the last oral history of the war came through here on his during his project? _He_ was a character.

**(We enter a large kitchen and sit where there is coffee waiting.)**

**I wasn't aware that he was chronicling Dante. It didn't make it into his publication.**

I asked him about it after the book came out. He said that he couldn't find enough evidence to prove that Dante was real. Said something about wanting to balance emotional accounts with as many hard facts as he could. I don't know much about that but I can understand what it was that he wanted to do. Heard the government gave him no end of trouble. Did you run into any issues?

**A few**.

It's to be expected. They didn't part on good terms, Dante and Uncle Sam. **(He chuckles and shakes his head)** Listen to me; I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. First, Dante was a real person; let's get that out right now. He existed or exists depending on who you talk to.

**Do you think he's still alive?**

We'll get to that. Now you're guilty of getting ahead of _your_self. Let's both stay at the beginning. It was during Regroup, you see? The government had run to the Rockies and was working on reestablishing its front lines. During that time, there were streams and streams of refugees coming over the mountains and descending into the western states. Once they made it through processing, they were assigned temporary lodging until more permanent accommodations could be found. Having the type of home I used to have, I made myself available to the government. You wanted to do that right off instead of waiting for ole' Uncle Sam to come knocking.

**Why is that?**

Well if you volunteered then you could kind of pick and choose your type of refugee. With my old house, I had more space than I needed. Wife and I had split after the kids were all grown up, so most of the rooms I had were empty save for when they'd come visit. I went for families, you know; folks that had a tough time of it amongst the folks having the tough time? I had people moving in and out of here all the time. Sometimes, though, the demand for housing came first. It wasn't long after the initial streams of people that the truck from the relocation center arrived and dropped him off.

**Dante?**

Yup. First thing I noticed was that he did not have the look of a refugee. He looked more like a soldier coming home after a tour in some war zone. Most refugees look strung out and wasted. They'd come a long way in reaching their goal and have a look like "Could you please point me to my rack? I'm going to pass out."

**What did he look like?**

Dante was a Black man, about a shade darker than you. He was about six foot, and was lightly built. He was lean, but that was probably from his trek from wherever it was he came from. He had short black hair and dark brown eyes. His eyes had a sort of intensity about them. In everything he did he always seemed to be completely focused. I'd imagine that there were probably a few ladies who found the look seductive. **(He laughs)**

**You said that he was "lean" from his "trek". Where did he come from?**

That's one of the mysteries, son. We don't know. His file read that he was from "back East" but he never said where. The government didn't care much then. As long as he was healthy, they were fine with it. They didn't have time to deal with everyone's psychological issues.

**He had psychological issues?**

Son, we all had psychological issues. Some people just didn't want to relive whatever hell they went through to get here. They wanted to get on with the rest of their existence. Getting back to where Dante came from, I don't know. I don't think anyone does. He never said.

**Surely there was some clue?**

There's only one. Come with me.

**(He leads me out of his kitchen and then out of what turns out to be just a portion of the house. The front, sides, and rear, which I believed to be the whole home, turn out to be an elaborate wall. We travel through a small courtyard that has a garden, a well, and a basketball court and come to a rectangular stone structure that is simple in appearance. We walk through a metal door that is clearly reinforced and into a large area that is very sparing in appearance and furnishings. The door closes behind us, an ominous sound but then all sound from outside ceases.**

**On the wall farthest from us a series of screens come to life with images that are from all aspects of the inside and outside of the rest of the home. This is probably the first true Zombie-proof bunker that I have been in since the war. Mr. Dawkins is well-prepared for a catastrophe that all pray never happens again. He leads me through an archway to a slightly smaller room. In the center of the room there is a massive furnace, several large anvils, and troughs filled with water. I can tell from the ambient heat that the furnace is still in use.)**

This is my workshop. I was a construction worker before and during the war. Before the war I moonlighted as a blacksmith at many a Renaissance Faire. During the war I used both sets of skills. Came in handy for yours truly and the subject of your quest.

**(He opens a large cabinet and removes a long metal box.)**

The author of the other book did not get to see this. You are the first in a long time.

**(He hands me the box and I open it. Inside lying on a bed of black velvet is a genuine treasure. Its handle is about thirty inches in length and fluorescent yellow with a reflective stripe running down its center. A makeshift lanyard, made from a worn and tattered rope is tied to the ends of the handle. At the bottom there is a spear-type metal pommel with a hook. The blade of the spear is flattened and without an edge. The hook is not sharp either. At its top is the treasure's defining characteristic. It's a large metal head hollowed for use as a handle. At one end there is an axe blade dull now but with signs of crude attempts at sharpening it. Black smudges along the edge send a chill through my spine. Jasper gives silent assurance as to what the smudges are. At the other end, there is a hammer's striking surface. It is flat but it too bears the black smudges of battle with the undead. I want to touch it, but I am afraid. Not of contracting the virus, but of the possibility regardless how remote that I could damage something so important and something that I never expected to find.)**

It's Dante's first hammer. He had this with him when he got dropped off. It's actually called a TNT tool. It's normally used for firefighting. If you look along the handle there is a stamp.

**(I look and there is a faded stamp in stenciled style lettering. It reads, "PFD".)**

That's the only clue as to where he came from. But who knows where PFD is? There are plenty of towns and cities in the east that start with the letter "P" not to mention the fact that smaller fire companies could name themselves whatever they wanted. But this is the only clue in existence. You can touch it, the virus is long dead plus I took a lighter to it a few years ago. Dante used this to fight his way across the most Godforsaken landscapes and through hordes of ghouls to get here. Sometimes I take it out and wonder just how many times he swung this and how many Gs fell to it.

**You said it was his "first". How many did he have?**

I made six for him. But we're getting ahead of ourselves again. Let's continue with a question that you'll probably forget to ask until you get ready to leave. What was he like? Well son, it's funny you ask. What was Dante like? Well when he first got here, like I said, he seemed more a soldier, come home from war than a refugee. There were the nightmares like with everyone. In the old place, I kept newcomers inside a room that was sort-of soundproofed with mattresses so that their screams wouldn't scare the shit out of everyone else. Dante was no different. After a week or so, he was ready to come out and stay in a normal room. He still had nightmares, I think, but he'd stopped screaming himself awake.

When he was awake, he wasn't the quiet, stoic man of action that everyone expects to hear about. I mean he was quiet at first, but I think that was because he wasn't quite comfortable. Eventually, he had a great deal to say and he had a good sense of humor. He liked to bounce off of anything you said with a sarcastic joke aimed at no one in particular. He kept this place light and laughing once he felt himself.

**What did he do with his time?**

Yeah, because there was a lot of it, right? At first he spent most of his time at the reception center up in the mountains. He would get up in the morning; help with breakfast, then catch a transport or a ride or something up to the center. He'd be gone all day and then come back by nightfall. He did that for a few months. He never said what it was he was doing, but I guessed he was looking for people he knew. It was typical. Towards the end he'd come back with a kind of depressed look on his face. When he came back the last time, I think he cried for a full day. I felt sorry for him. I really did. He spent the next week or so in his room. Then, just when I was getting ready to worry about him, he snapped out of it.

He came to me and asked me what it was that he could do to help things on this side. I took it as a good sign. He wanted to be productive, that's a good part of the grieving process. I asked him what he did on the other side but he just waved it off. "Nothing worthwhile," he said. I asked him what he wanted to do. He told me he had heard of the neighborhood security teams. You know the guys that went around clearing houses and patrolling the neighborhood? He wanted on one of those. I was concerned at first and he gave me the typical assurances. He told me that he needed to do something physical or he'd go out of his mind. Being a combat vet myself, I could understand. I knew a few guys who were doing it. I got hold of one of them. His name's Sullivan Kelly. A mook from Boston, he'd come clear across the country with a group of guys so I figured Sully and Dante would find common ground. Anyway, I got hold of Sully and told him that I had a guy with similar experience who was looking for something to do. Sully's guys were a traveling group and had been together since they crossed over. I made sure to tell Sully that Dante was Black. Sully's not a bad guy, but… you know. Anyway, I'll let him tell you what all Dante did when he was with them. Once you get your fill of ole' Sully you can come on back. I got lots more stories to tell you.

**(He gestures to the cabinet from where he pulled the box. Hanging on the inside are five hand-made variations of the firefighting tool. Jasper assures me that those are the real deal and the only ones in existence. He says that there is only one of the six that is still missing…)**

**I**

**(Following the advice of Jasper Dawkins, I arrive at **_**Kelly's Pub**_** on Boston Harbor. It's a typical Irish pub in both appearance and feel. Its patrons, mostly dockworkers and fishermen greet my entrance with a palpable cool malice. I am clearly out of my element. Behind the bar I see my contact looking like the stereotypical barkeep complete with rolled sleeves, apron, cleaning rag and pint glass. He looks around and glares before rapping his knuckles hard on the bar.)**

All right, asses, you don't get this uppity whenever Johnny Flannigan comes walking in here, so keep to your drinks. You must be the fella Jasper told me about. Come in and pull up a stool. What are you drinking?

**(His Boston accent is thick and his Irish heritage beyond contestation. He raises a surprised eyebrow when I ask for a pint. After a few minutes he hands over a glass of Guinness Stout.)**

You're not ordering this for my sake are you?

**(I assure him that I am not capable of that kind of patronization and chug half of it. It is summer here after all. I tap the glass and he readies me another one.)**

Good, didn't think so. Jasper says you're looking into Dante. Only took damned-near forever for someone serious to come around asking about him. You want to do right by me; you'll do right by him. I can assume you want to know about what he did when we was clearing houses back in Colorado. Fine then, here's what happened.

When I first met Dante, I wasn't sure of what to make of him. I don't think he knew what to make of me either. I don't want to offend you but I'm a bit of a bigot. It comes from the Irish Catholic bubble that I lived in as a kid. My mouth gets away from me sometimes. I'm just glad that he was the understanding kind of guy or otherwise he would have used that hammer of his on me. **(He laughs)** Still, I could see that he had been through some hell or another and I gradually came to the conclusion that he had his head on straight about what we were doing and how it was to be done.

**Can you elaborate?**

Sure. First he showed up with that TNT tool of his. Carrying that was a good thing. It could do more than just smash skulls. Second, he dressed right. He wore dark colored military pants and combat boots that actually fit not baggy and hanging half off his ass. Then there was the leather jacket. It was a motorcycle jacket that had armor and whatnot. I guess he figured that if it could keep his ass alive bouncing off of asphalt at 60 miles an hour, then going up against Zack should be no problem. He was right of course. But that was not the thing that assured me he knew what he was doing.

**(He takes my empty pint glass and hands me a full one)**

The thing that impressed me most was the mask. He brought this leather mask that went over his nose and his mouth. That told me that he had smashed his share of skulls and knew the danger of getting any of that shit into his mouth or his nose. He was a smart one from the door, but I still had reservations.

**Why?**

I'm a bigot, remember? My guys and I had been together since the beginning. We'd shared time and knew each other in and out. Plus there was the danger that he might be nuts. I'm sure Jasper told you that the government didn't have time to adequately deal with everyone's mental problems? NST was full of nut-jobs in the beginning and we didn't need any more. You see Dante didn't have the typical reaction to Zack that most people had back then. Aside from the sight and smell of those bastards, there's the moan. That noise inspires one emotion and one emotion only, fear. Whether they freeze, get pissed, or run for the hills, fear is the root of their response. Dante was different. He heard ole' Zack moaning and he'd head _towards_ it. There was no fear in his eyes. No fear at all. I thought that was a bit off. That's why I kept him pulling rear duty his first few jobs. I thought that he'd get bored with it and then quit but he hung in there. He took to the work and took the time to learn everything he could. He was always asking about strategies and how best to do this or that.

**I understand that NST units were comprised of volunteers and that each unit operated based on the strengths of their members. How did it work in your unit? **

We weren't typical NST. We would move around and help clear homes and neighborhoods for re-habitation. I don't have any military experience but I did run as a volunteer fireman so we ran the unit that way. There were sixteen of us in the unit. Depending on the size of the place we had to search, we split the unit up into teams, usually four guys or so. We'd send in one group to do a preliminary search. That bit is quick fast and in a hurry. Look in the obvious places for Zack or survivors. Then we send in the second team along with the first and do a thorough search of the place. Top to bottom in every nook and cranny we could think of. It's painstaking, nerve-wracking work but it needed doing.

**What kind of weapons did you have?**

Everyone thinks the American cowboys were packing all kinds of heat. Well not us. We made the trek across the country with baseball bats, crowbars, and pipes. It was like we were back in the Dark Ages. We busted heads the old fashioned way. When we got organized into a unit, we got two rifles, two pistols, and we were told that ammo was extremely limited. Anyway, Team One did preliminary; Team Two did follow up search. Team Three came in once we were sure that the place was clear and helped do inventory, and Team Four secured the outside. I put Dante in at rear on Team Two first. We had an opening after the first guy came a little too close to the jaws of a G he found tucked away in an attic. He just didn't have the stones for interior work after that.

There was a decent bit of action at that time. We could see a bit of fighting ten or fifteen times a month. It amounted to every two or three houses or so. Even at his spot, Dante still managed to find some Gs to splat. He had a knack for finding the damned things. And once he started swinging that hammer of his, it didn't take long for him to impress the guys.

I'll tell you about this one place tucked away in the woods a bit north of Denver. Some rich guy figured he'd turn his house into the perfect zombie-proof fortress. The place was a decent size, two stories and about thirty rooms with a pool house linked out back adding another ten rooms to the count. It was a bit much but we had the guys and the experience so we took it by the numbers. First search kicked up two Zack that turned out to be family members of the rich guy. Team One took 'em out no problem. Team Two comes in, Dante pulling rear as usual and the hard search began. First floor was nothing, that's where we found the first two. Second floor was equally empty. Going over to the pool house we were thinking about doing inventory and then calling it a successful sweep-and-clear. Then we heard the moan.

Almost everyone reacted the usual way. Freeze, figure out where it came from and then wait. Not Dante. He turned and was through the door. We followed and found him in a hallway staring down a ghoul. The hallway connected the pool house to the main house but it was narrow. Dante twirls his hammer and walks towards the G. I'm hissing at him to move out of the way because there wasn't enough room for him to get a decent swing and our shooter could pop it no problem. He's not listening. When he gets in range he jabs the thing with the _hammer_ end of his hammer, not the wedge and hook. He hits the thing in the top of the chest hard enough to drive it back out of the hallway into the main house. Then he _circles_ the thing squaring off with it.

I was thinking that Dante had lost his mind and couldn't wait to kick him out of the unit but then I saw what he was doing. He was lining up his shot. He wasn't crazy. He wasn't stupid. He was patient. There was only one Zack to deal with and it was entirely focused on him. He didn't need to rush to kill it. He had it where he wanted it. The thing raised its arms, dropped its jaw, and lunged at him. It never touched him. He wheeled that hammer around and drove the undead fucker right into the floor. All of us winced when its skull crunch. The thing was DRT bub, Dead-Right-There. All of us were speechless. We just watched as Dante shouldered his hammer, snatched up the leg of the now fully dead G and hauled its carcass outside to be burned. Joey Perkins, then the leader of Team One asked me right then to move Dante up.

**Did you?**

Do I look like an idiot? Of course I did. I'm a bigot, not a moron.

**(He motions to my empty glass before taking it, then hands me a full one.)**

Dante moved up in rank quick after that. From rear Team Two to rear Team One. Then he went to third man, then second, then lead after Joey's wife Wendy got pregnant and Joey quit. Once he got that position, he really hit his stride.

**Which do you think he preferred?**

Lead on Team One. I was hesitant to put him there at first. I was afraid that he'd run off chasing Zack or lead his group into something they couldn't handle. At first it wasn't a real danger but then we got contracted to help clear this little ski village up north Colorado. I went in with Team One on the first couple of jobs.

**Ski village?**

Yeah, something a bunch of rich guys set up before the war. It was supposed to be the Hamptons, mountain-style. They had a bunch of servants living there, in their own homes of course, to keep the place up and running for them in case they suddenly got the urge to ski. Even had a helipad and a landing strip installed. What that place must have looked like during The Panic? Every seven-figure shlub who knew, thought he knew, or even heard about the place trying to land the family jet, helicopter, ski-doo, dune buggy, dirt bike and lunar excursion module there. If even one of those spoiled heirs and heiresses turned out to be infected…

**Were they?**

Had to be. Place was gated for the most part. Any walking Zack would have had to come over the mountain and that's impossible for them. My guess is Zack flew in. About half the homes were sealed up. It was a place where Zack could nest and just wait to be unleashed. Twelve units like ours were slated to clear the place. After a few houses and about twenty ghouls we get teamed up with this unit from Nevada to take on this fifty room mansion. I tell ya, my pulse was going and not because of the couple hundred Zack that could be waiting for us but this was our largest fight since crossing The Wall.

**For the readers, please elaborate, The Wall?**

The Rockies. Those of us who crossed called them The Wall. Getting back on topic, Dante was lead. He was all smiles on the ride over, on the walk up the mile-long driveway, and even in the planning and coordination meeting. Once we got to the door he turned. Some of us talked about it when he wasn't around. He just seemed to morph into this all-business, ass kicking, G-killer. No more smiles, just the fight. He walked up to the door and took his spot. I was right behind him. We were starting from the east wing of this place. I was carrying a rifle for this job since the house was so big. He looked back at me and I could see the change in his eyes. Then he swung his hammer and the door imploded. He did the typical pause and then stepped inside.

He had a thing for left hand searches. You find that in servicemen, you know? Left, right left that kind of thing? It always made me wonder if he ever spent time in uniform. Some folks say he was a Marine. Anyway, he started to the left and took a few steps. We filed in after him. By the numbers, room to room, step by step. Five rooms into the mansion we run into our first clusters. Carrying the rifle, I step back and wait for mop-up while the rest of the team get in there and mix it up. Dante does his usual smash up job. Pun intended. Ten Zack later, we're washing their crud off our clothes and weapons and still in one piece. We reach the middle of the house and find that one of the rich dunces wasn't so much of a dunce after all and had a greenhouse-type atrium installed complete with a garden. The whole bit, automated sprinklers and humidifiers running on timers and solar generators that would have given every tree-hugging hippie a huge chubby. By the time we got there, of course, the place was the fucking Amazon jungle.

The plan was to meet the other team in the middle of the house before performing the secondary search. The atrium was the middle and it was bound to be warmer than the unheated halls. The doors were locked but we opened them and headed in. The place was huge, with high ceilings and just as high trees and thick bushes. You couldn't see more than ten feet in front of you it was that dense. We walked all the way to the middle of the damned thing. If we had just gone all the way through, maybe we would have figured out what we were standing in. We had been silent the whole way. One joke; I cracked one stupid joke. It wasn't even that funny.

**(Sully rests his elbows on the bar and I can see tears in his eyes.)**

Gallows humor, but it got a big laugh from everybody… except Dante of course. He was still all business. I told him to lighten up. He just kept looking around. Then the moaning started and we all shut up. It came from everywhere. Didn't take Patton to know we were surrounded. As the first few shuffled from the bush I was only starting to think, "Who locks an atrium in a house when the danger is from the outside?" I shouted for everyone to get back to back but we were too spread out. Our special unit of four bad-ass Zack-killers turned into three screaming pansies. Johnny McMinn went down first. He took a step in the wrong direction. Too close to the bush and got pulled into the green by five gray arms. I never heard a man scream like that. Timmy Dorsey was carrying two crowbars. He was a ninja with those things. He started hooking 'em down one after the other.

One of his bars got stuck in a ribcage on the backswing. The ghoul grabbed his arm and pulled him nearly off his feet. Three more came from nowhere and just shoved him over. They ripped right through the jacket he had on and started tearing into him. I stepped backward and fell over one of 'em that couldn't walk. Both its legs were gone below the knees. It clawed at my feet and started pulling itself up my body. I thought I was dead. Then Dante speared the wedge and hook end of his hammer through the back of the thing's skull just as it was about to bite into my chest. He barked at me to get up and then turned to fight. What I saw, I'll never forget.

Four of 'em come at him at the same time. He stepped to one side to give one of them a better vantage than the others. It lunged and got a face full of his hammer. He spun the hammer around and split the face of the next with the axe head on the backswing. Then he swung up like the hammer was a nine-iron. The axe took the upper half of the third's head clean off. He kicked the fourth in its leg; shattered the knee. It was something he did. He sidestepped when it fell forward. Then he took it with the hammer. More arrived. There had to be about a dozen. Johnny McMinn came crawling out of the green dragging most of his entrails. Timmy started twitching again even as he was being eaten. Dante ran over and hiked me up by my collar.

He dragged me further into the jungle, where we hadn't been before. Any Zack that got close enough to make a try for us, he nailed 'em. The whole sprint took less than two minutes but it felt like an eternity. Finally we found the doors. They were locked, but a quick swing with ole' Dante's hammer fixed that. He throws me through and turns as more Zack come out of the green. Guys from the Nevada team come running around the corner hearing the noise. They got to see a repeat performance of what I saw in the atrium. It took 'em a second to get into the fight, but it got done. When it was all over, the atrium was sealed up, we'd lost two of my best friends, Dante had saved my bigoted, Irish Catholic ass, and I hadn't fired my rifle once.

**What happened after that?**

After that, we regrouped. I stayed back. Dale MacDonald and Geordie O'Malley told me that Dante went right back inside the atrium. They said he fought like the devil in there. Even when he put down Timmy and Johnny, he never lost his nerve. After the mansion was clear, he came back and sat down next to me. I thought he was going to say something cliché or give me some sort of platitude about how "it wasn't your fault" or "things like this happen". I thought that's what he was going to say.

**What did he say?**

Nothing, the bastard didn't say a damned thing. He knew I wouldn't believe it. I was the one that opened the atrium doors, not him. I was the one that cracked the joke when we should have been backing out of there. He knew that Johnny and Timmy going down _was_ my fault. Instead of saying something stupid, he just put an arm around my shoulder and sat with me while I cried like a baby for an hour.

The guilt over what I had done was crushing me. Still, we had a job to do and we stayed with it. I left Team One to Dante and hung back with Team Four and Billy Donnelley, the guy who used to be rear Team Two. Everything after that went smooth and we didn't lose another man although a few of the other teams lost some guys. The village got cleared and inventoried and we pulled out of there a week later. Dante stayed on with us for the rest of the spring and all of the summer before finishing his tour at the end of the season. Winter came on time back then so Zack would be freezing up and the regular authorities could handle them.

I retired from fieldwork after that. I hung back and managed things. I just didn't have it in me anymore. I would have eaten a bullet too, but I owed it to the boys to keep going. I had gotten too full of myself and two guys died because of it. Don't take Patton to know that's a sign that you can't lead. You done that pint, son?

**(I drain the last of my fifth pint and slide the glass to him.)**

**Where did Dante go after that?**

I don't know. He never came back and ran with us. A shame. The boys really liked him and he was awesome at it. Considering all the stories about him afterward, it seems like he put his talents to better use. I like to think sometimes that I helped him somehow. Then I remember Timmy and Johnny.

**I**

**(Jasper Dawkins' interview continued...)**

**(We're outside in his courtyard as he tends to his garden. Leading me around to the other side of the yard he shows me a pen where he keeps several pigs and quite a few chickens. As we talk, he checks the chicken coops for eggs and looks in on one of his sows. He explains that he bred her and that she was due to produce a litter of piglets within the month.)**

After Dante did a stint with Sully's boys he came back around late September and said he was done with the NST. He didn't say it with attitude or anything just simply that he was done. I think he learned everything he wanted to know from them, but then he surprised me by asking me to forge him a new hammer. I asked him what was wrong with the one he had and he says "It's not taking them down with one blow."

I made the joke that maybe his arm was getting too tired, but I knew it was the weapon. Sully kept me up to speed on how he was doing. When you talk to him you'll find that Sully was impressed with the way Dante fought. I saw that Dante was doing something that gave him a measure of peace. I still hadn't caught on yet. It took me a month to forge his first hammer. I made it out of one piece of steel. I also made some changes to the original design.

**Why? What was wrong with the first hammer?**

Just about everything. Remember, the TNT tool is made for use in firefighting, not Zack-killing. The striking face of the hammer is flat. Greater surface area decreases the amount force delivered by distributing it over a wider area. Sure you can crack a skull with one shot, but that ain't enough when you're fighting Zack. You gotta _crush_ the skull and destroy the brain. So the first thing I did was round the striking surface of the hammer. I didn't bring it to a point but rounding it narrowed the point of impact so that more force would be delivered over a smaller area. It took a couple of tries, but it worked out okay. I also got rid of the hollow part between the axe and the hammer, made the thing stronger. Still the hook and wedge was important so I made the handle a bit longer. Not much, just a couple of inches. The gripping length on the TNT tool was about thirty inches. I just made the first custom job thirty and two. I took some leather from an old trench coat and gave it a wrap around the handle and there she was.

**(We walk back inside the bunker and he produces the weapon he described. It resembles a large ball-peen hammer with an axe blade where the flat striking surface should be. He hands it to me and with shaky hands I heft its weight. It's heavy for me, about ten pounds total, but its weight is evenly distributed. It's also a matte gray color with absolutely no shine on it at all. Testing a theory, I try to swing it one-handed. For a stronger man, it would be surprisingly easy.)**

Thought you'd need two hands to swing that monster, huh? You're not the first. Dante thought the same thing. It took some persuading to get him to even try it. After a week swinging it around, he felt comfortable. It was good too. He had just added another weapon to his arsenal.

**His shield, right?**

Technically it's called a buckler. True, it is a shield, but it's not the same as, you know, the knights of old. It's a lot smaller only a foot and a half or so in diameter. It's a good story, how he came to start carrying it. Let's see, I want to tell the story the right way. It happened back this way, after that whole ski resort thing but before Dante gave up the NST. A house with some people in it had gone quiet over the weekend. On Monday morning, I think it was; someone heard a moan come from inside the place. The local NST got called in on Tuesday. After hearing about what went on up north, they asked Dante to come along.

Dante says they did a walk-around of the property first, something that they hadn't really tried before. The back of the house butted up against a strip of woods. He said there was a fence but the gate was broken and there was a burn pit dug in the back with a beheaded G lying in it, skull crushed but unburned. So they went around to the front of the house to make entry. He said that they bashed in the front door when they found it locked. Taking the team in, he did a quick search of the downstairs and found nothing. Then they searched upstairs and found nothing. Then another team came in, I think. Same time as the first, they did a room to room search looking in all the crevices and everything. Well that's when they found them.

Turns out the G had come from the woods and pushed through the gate. The man of the house had taken care of it but somehow got infected. It probably happened when he was handling the head. Some people forget that the heads are still dangerous if the brain is intact. He may have hidden it from the other folks in the house, or they may have not have had the stones to whack him once he turned. It happened sometimes. Anyway, they found the whole nest in the basement. They opened the door and five of them came pouring out. Caught by surprise, members of the unit scattered.

Dante wades into the Gs swinging his hammer taking out two with two swings. The other three go at him at the same time. He swings but only knocks one of them down. The other two manage to get hold of him. He gets his hammer up and into the mouth of one so it can't bite him. The other is pulling at him. Dante's got it by the throat. He later said, "That was probably the dumbest fucking thing I have ever done." All he had was leather gloves. They can chew through that. Not easy but they can. He lets it go and snatches up a plastic trash can lid and uses it as a shield. The Zack lets him go and tries to claw around the lid.

Dante shoves it back and then yanks his hammer out of the other one's mouth. One of the other guys takes out grabby zombie and Dante smashes nibbles into the floor. But that's how Dante got his shield. Naturally he traded plastic for metal, something else I was happy to make for him. Put it to good use too from what I heard. Anyway, you asked something else, oh yeah. What happened after he left the NST?

Well there was this woman. Her name was Stacy Morgan and she was what you would call an outdoors enthusiast. I call her a hermit. She came over the Rockies just after the Battle of Yonkers, found a spot somewhere among the peaks, and then stayed there. At first I attributed her actions to women's intuition, but then Dante told me that he saw the survival guide that other guy put out in her library of books. Her I.Q. went up in my mind after hearing that. Anyway she would come down here to get things from me, tools, supplies, that kind of stuff. She was a nice enough broad but a little light on the social skills.

Anyway, she wanted a few tools made up and was waiting for them when Dante ran into her after coming back from… I'm not sure where. It was a chance meeting. I hadn't discussed her with him and neither did I discuss him with her. Like I said, she wasn't much on social graces. She had her own thing and was perfectly content with it. Somehow she got to talking to him while I was working. I guess it was those eyes of his, right? When I came back from the forge, she was scribbling something down on a piece of paper. She handed it to him and said, "If you can get there from here, you can have what you want." Then she snatched up what I had made, paid me, and left. I asked Dante what her whole thing was about but he told me that he'd tell me later. Two days after that, I found a note from him saying that he would be back in the spring and not to worry.

**He went to her place.**

Yeah, he was there for the winter. I'm not sure what went on up there and he didn't tell me. I can't imagine that she needed any houses searched or anything like that. Stacy believed in fair trade, one thing for another of equal value. I don't know what she gave him and I don't know what he gave her but they gave each other something. My guess is that maybe she gave him some knowledge on how to survive out in the wilderness. I know that he made it from back east all the way to the Rockies, but that's not really survival. When you're moving through infested territory you're more enduring than surviving. Anyhow, he came back in mid-March sometime. He was scraggly-faced and had lost a couple of pounds but he was in good health. The only thing he would say was that she had the survival guide and that she was going to need a few things from me. He said that she would be down for them in a couple of weeks and she was. That was that.

**Is there any way that I can talk with her?**

I haven't seen her in almost five years. I don't know how to get up to her place and even if I did I wouldn't recommend that you go traipsing up there looking for her. I'm not afraid you'll get lost. You found me easy enough. I'm afraid you'll find her. She's one hell of a shot and she's likely to blow you away before you even get close enough to explain who you are. Like I said, she's not one for social graces.

**So what happened after that?**

Well after that I started to put it together. Dante went out and bought a motorcycle suit. One piece and armored like his jacket and he got himself a pair of gloves of the same kind. He also came across a couple pairs of combat boots and a rucksack. When he showed up with a machete and a straight edged survival knife and asked me to teach him to take care of them I was sure. He was leaving and he was going back over the Rockies. We argued about it. **(He scoffs)**

Argued, I talked and he ignored me. There was no talking him out of it. I told him it was suicide; that the stream of refugees had turned into drips. That Zack had won everything east of the mountains. He didn't have any of it. He was going and that was that. The best thing I could do was give him what he needed. So I did. I taught him how to care for his tools. Two weeks later, he was gone again, only this time all his note said was "thanks – D". He'd been with me long enough for me to grow to like him great deal. I thought he was killing himself. You can imagine how I felt.

**How did he cross the Rockies?**

The first time? I have no idea. I heard from a soldier assigned to guard the Rockies that they turned him back a couple of times. His name's Jordan, Michael Jordan if you can believe it. He's retired now, and lives in Arizona. He ran into Dante a bunch of times. Maybe he can tell you.

**Do you know where Dante went?**

No. I came down to make breakfast one day and it was already cooking. He was standing at the stove making bacon. He gave me a smile told me to sit down and that the food was almost ready. It was like he had never left.

**You didn't have any clue as to where he had been?**

Not really, but he did give me this when he came back.

**(From a small wooden box he pulls a faded postcard from Coney Island New York.)**

I'm not from this way. I moved here after getting out of the service. I'm originally from Brooklyn. When I was a kid, going out to the Island and riding the rides and stuff was a big deal for me. He knew that.

**I**

**(I arrive at the home of one SFC Michael Jordan US Army Ret. outside of Tempe Arizona. The former soldier lives in what has become a staple of post-war communities, stilted homes with retractable steps all within the confines of reinforced walls. Mr. Jordan greets me at the bottom of his steps and ushers me around to his back deck where he and his family are preparing to eat dinner. I meet his wife Elaine, and two sons Zachary and Elliot, both grown and serving the country as their father did. Mr. Jordan offers me a seat and Elaine unexpectedly puts a plate of piping hot food in front of me. After a quick prayer from Elliot we dig into a good meal.)**

I always wondered when I'd get someone coming around asking about him. Always figured it would be somebody from the DOD, though. I'm not sure where to begin.

**How did Dante cross the first time?**

That's just it. No one knows. I heard stories from guys who were there when he tried walking out the front door. Back then, the establishment frowned on that. Now there were people living on the other side of The Wall but it was mostly military and support personnel. You have to understand that the other side of The Wall was a war zone. I spent several tours in the border towns defending against wave after wave of zombies. There weren't many civilians who lived or even wanted to live under those conditions. Those that did contributed to the effort and were allowed to cross whenever they wanted. When it came to going out beyond those areas, we maybe got ten of those requests a month and the answer was always no.

It was usually the same story. Some guy or group that thought a few weeks spent up in the woods practicing with hunting rifles and reading a few books on wilderness survival thought they could hack the trek through undead country to get back to wherever they came from for whatever they wanted. Problem was that if they didn't make it, they would either become food for those things or, what was even likelier, they would become another enemy for us to deal with. Back then, the government was not into the business of making more reasons to expend precious ammunition. When Dante showed up, and this is just what I heard, he was told to get bent and to enjoy his well-earned safety.

No, no one knows exactly how he crossed the first time. Now when he came back, that's a different story. He snuck out the back door but waltzed back into the front. _That_ I was there for. I was manning the perimeter of one of the border towns, Starling, I think. Then he comes knocking at the gate. I was about to shoot him but he waved and asked to be let in. We got the dogs ready, handy buggers they were, and he walked the gauntlet without getting so much as a second sniff. He wanted to be let back across the mountains. A few of the guys I was with remembered him trying to get out and were more than a bit surprised that he made it. They were ready to give him a hard time but then he told us that he had something important to tell our superiors. One of the Lieutenants was around and took him to see the Colonel. After that it was hush-hush and "treat him with respect".

**What did he have to say?**

First, there was an attack coming of about a couple of hundred Zack and it was less than a day out. Second he had some information that they wanted. We weren't sure what it was he was talking about. We wouldn't know for about three days.

**(We finish the rest of the dinner in relative silence. During breaks in silence, Zachary and Elliot ask me questions on places that I had been on my journey and what I had learned. After dinner Mr. Jordan takes me into his study and removes a rolled up piece of paper the size of a poster from a long drawer at the bottom of a bookshelf. He moves it over to an artist's drawing desk and unrolls it, carefully securing the edges. The piece of paper is a map of the United States. It has been colored on with marker. There are blue dots, red dots, purple dots, yellow dots and a massive swath of gray. It seems as if the artist had attempted to color in the gray area but had decided against it, traced a border around it and drawn an 'X' over the whole thing. Mr. Jordan looks at me and I can tell that this document is important.)**

This is a copy of the map that Dante came back with the first time he crossed. This is the state of the US during the earliest days of Stalemate, long before Reclamation had even been thought of. This is how he managed to get back in without being arrested. The blue dots are civilian settlements. Red is the military. The purple dots are pockets of our military guarding civilian settlements. The yellow dots were areas where there was essentially nothing. The gray, well you can guess.

You have to understand how important this was. The government had no real idea as to the state of things on the other side of the Wall. They barely had an idea on what was happening on our side of the Wall. Dante was looking at jail time until he revealed this. It was comprehensive, it was accurate, and it was more information than they could have possibly hoped for. But, here's the thing, he didn't trade this map for re-entry.

**Why not?**

He didn't need our permission to go anywhere. He got over without us noticing. Of course he could get back just as easily. What he was asking for was the convenience of just coming and going as he pleased. I guess, whatever it was he was looking for, he didn't find it. He was interrogated on how he had gotten over the Rockies. They pressured him saying that Zack could use his route. Dante flat out told them that if a zombie could cross where he did, then the human race was fucked. He never revealed exactly how he did it and the map he had was entirely too valuable to make a federal case out of it, so they just let it slide. He got what he wanted. Once he passed all the medical screenings they let him back in.

**(He takes down the map, rolls it up, places it in a protective tube and hands it to me)**

You are going to need this if you're going to find him. Don't worry about returning it. The attack that Dante warned us about came exactly when he said it would. Thing is, a fog bank came down from the north and completely obscured the direction they were coming from. My post wasn't equipped with a mine field or even tin cans dangling on a string. We wouldn't have known about them until they were pounding on the gate. Without him, we would have been overrun for sure. As far as I'm concerned, Dante saved my life. Those two boys you met are here because of him. If you find him, you give him my thanks and an invitation to meet his Godsons.


	2. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

**The First Trek**

**(Following the map given to me by SFC Ret. Michael Jordan, I arrive at a bar called "Peaches" off of Duval Street in Key West Florida. It is the ninth in a series of stops along Dante's first trek across the barren wasteland that was the eastern United States during the war. Most of the Blue Zones listed on his map are gone. Either they were abandoned, overrun during the war, or disbanded after Reclamation. Still, Key West looks promising. The owner of the bar an elegant-looking woman of about fifty that goes by the same name, meets me at a table. A snap of her fingers brings plates of local fare along with fruity rum drinks. I note the vacation/relaxation atmosphere has almost returned fully to Key West, but signs of the past are never far off. Beneath our table there are empty slots for undead defense weapons. Tossing back sun-blonde hair and flashing a dazzling smile that plays in sparkling blue eyes, she shakes my hand heartily before we dig into our conch fritters and fries.)**

I never thought I would have the opportunity to tell this story to anyone other than the patrons at this bar. When I first started telling it, no one believed me, even with the backing of all the people that were here. What exactly do you want to know?

**Everything you want to tell me.**

Okay, I'll start by telling you how the Conch Republic was back then. We had a decent population of people. Not so many mainlanders, which I always thought was odd. I guess when stories of zombies walking out of the ocean hit the airwaves, people didn't like the idea of being in a place where there was nowhere to run. Being a potential beachhead for zombie invasion, the Keys were evacuated during the Panic, the same as if a hurricane was coming. When the US adopted the South African Plan we started migrating back because it was safer here than on land. In the interim, the government had taken it upon themselves to demolish the Overseas Highway so we were completely cut off from the continent but not necessarily from each other. The ocean down here is shallow and calm for the most part so getting around by boat was easy enough. We were even able to communicate across some of the smaller gaps.

Anyway, we set about organizing ourselves, establishing trade between islands, planting more fruit trees and vegetable gardens. Plus, we organized fishing so that we didn't deplete any one area. With that established, we set up security. We may be Bohemian, but stupidity is not included in that lifestyle. We knew that one day a ghoul could come walking up out of the drink and we needed plans for when that happened. We had boats with nets, and we had poles, and we had knives.

What we did was we sent out decent sized boats, anything less than fifteen feet wouldn't do. A couple of ghouls could tip even a ten-foot boat and then the crew would be Zack food. The boats would go out and patrol the island on the shallow sides of the reefs or just among the sea grass. They'd look for a ghoul and when they found one, they'd hook it, bring it up just enough so that they could kill it then tow it back to shore where we would burn it. On shore we'd have people on bicycles, and on foot going around the edge of the island. If they spotted a ghoul, they'd raise an alarm and then the community would gather en masse and take out the fucker or fuckers.

We patrolled twenty-four hours a day. Shore patrol was easy during the day for obvious reasons. Night fishing was even easier since all one had to do was take the boat out to a decent depth and light a few torches. Ghouls would eventually show up to be hooked and whacked. In the beginning we were getting them pretty steady and had to burn just about every day. After that, it died down so to speak. Then life kind of moved into a sort of rhythm.

You'd wake up and go down to the beach to bathe, head off to whatever task you were assigned, work until lunch. Mosey on over to the community kitchen to get something to eat, maybe bullshit and lollygag for a while before going back to work and then heading home for the night. Everyone had a job to do depending on what they knew how to do, but then everyone was security when the alarm got raised. I've been awoken many a time in the middle of the night having to go out and crush something's skull. Other than that, I was a gardener. I grew carrots, tomatoes, onions, and oranges. Everyone seems to think that we on this side of the Wall suffered. Here it wasn't so bad.

Now the day Dante showed up changed all of that. I was washing on the beach when this decrepit piece of shit boat comes into the bay from the east. Its engine is choke-chugging along and then dies. I can see someone in the wheelhouse looking at me through binoculars. I'm not dressed so I flip them the bird and go for my sarong. I figure whoever it is can stare at my tits all they want but a view of my ass is provided only with my permission. The guy on the boat drops anchor in the way wrong place and then jumps over the side. For a moment I don't think he's going to come back up, he had this big metal thing on his back, but then he does.

He comes splashing out of the water wearing this black poncho, a leather biker suit that had clearly seen better days, and these boots that had to weigh a ton especially with the water. The bastard was fortunate that he didn't drown. He smiles at me and scans my tits for a second before staring me in the eye and asking me if I was alone. I'm thinking that he's looking for some forced ass and I might have to kick his but then he looks past me to a friend of mine and walks by without another word.

It was eerie. First I'm afraid that this Mandingo warrior is going to rape me and then I'm almost offended that he didn't. He waves to my friend, a guy named Tom from Marathon Key and heads out of the water. They shake hands while I stand pissed that I'm not being ravaged. I can see what he's telling Tom is important because Tom's expression, one that usually has this goofy grin on it, is melting off his face and becoming as serious as I had ever seen it. The new guy is pointing in my direction but I can figure it's something beyond me. Tom starts waving frantically for me to come out of the water, then he ushers our new friend away from the beach and towards the center of town.

**What did he say?**

I didn't find out for another couple of hours. Everyone got pulled in except for the patrols. We all gathered outside of the town hall. Dante was standing up on the steps with his hands clasped in front of him, just waiting and saying nothing while people shot questions at him. "What's going on in the continent?" "Is it true that the government has abandoned everyone?" "Have they got the problem under control?" Then Shanice, the unofficially elected Mayor of Key West, comes out and holds her hands up. Back then, she was about my age now and had a kind of presence that demanded respect. Even Dante took notice and gave her his undivided attention.

It turned out that a tanker from one of the islands south of us had run aground against a reef and its hull had split. Dante had come across it a day before. He had boarded it looking for supplies. Apparently he had been aboard his piece of shit boat for almost two weeks following the coastline south. Anyway, he found this tanker and had boarded it after watching it for a while. He said that he checked its decks for signs of people and found a little bit of food and some medical supplies.

He said that when he went to search the cargo hold he found zombies, hundreds of zombies sealed inside a hold that was leaking. He said the other holds were completely flooded and if the one hold he could access was any indication, the others would have been just as full. Can you imagine that? Walking around a rusted out hulk of a ship in the pitch blackness not knowing that beneath your feet is a hold full of the undead. Opening that door and hearing the amplified moans of hundreds of zombies. What kind of hellish noise would they make? You slam the door shut and back away, hearing them through the steel and wondering if their howls are summoning others that you didn't notice. You could be surrounded; trapped inside a massive metal coffin that is slowly sinking. That's not the worst of it, though.

He added that he saw ghouls walking along the bottom of the ocean and that all of them were headed in our direction. He couldn't say how many, only that at some points they obscured the bottom from view. "Always looking up at me," he said. ", reaching up, even though I was too far away." **(She shivers involuntarily)**

A tidal wave of undead was coming straight for us. They'd likely arrive by the dozen. We only had about two hundred people living here. They'd wash over this place and kill, devour, or turn every man, woman, and child. We never would have known a thing. Maybe a boat would have spotted them, but what to do then?

**What happened next?**

People started to panic. They shouted for everyone to jump onto the boats and head for the mainland. I could see a few people trying to edge away from everyone else. The Bohemian lifestyle that held us together was unraveling right before my eyes. I was considering leaving the island on Dante's boat. I was formulating a plan when Shanice held up her hands again. She quieted us with one word. "Hush!" she said. "Even as this horror approaches, we have a plan."

**(Peaches dabs a fry into some ketchup and smiles)**

The plan was so simple; I was amazed that no one had immediately thought of it. When the government destroyed the Overseas Highway, they'd only severed the portions that connected the road to land. The elevated parts were still there. I couldn't think of anyone that didn't own a tent, or a tarp of some kind, and it was June for Christ's sake. The weather was fantabulous. Shanice's plan was to evacuate Key West of every man, woman, and child and put us all up on the highway. It would be tight, but we would be safe. The things couldn't climb ladders even if they could somehow figure out how to swim since the pillars were in deeper water.

She sent everyone back to their homes to get what they would need along with two weeks worth of supplies. No cars, no traffic so it actually happened rather fast. In less than ten hours everyone was standing on the northeast shore of the island waiting for their turn on the boats to take them out to the pillars where they would climb the maintenance ladders to the deck. We sent word to our neighbors to the north of the potential danger and our plan of what to do. It was very efficient. The last boat left the shore headed for the highway just as the sun was starting to dip into the Gulf. As it docked, one of the patrol boats sends up a flaming arrow, the sign that they spotted something. They came steaming around twenty minutes later yelling their heads off about the sheer number of zombies they saw.

For the next seven days we watched as wave after wave of undead cannibals walked from the water onto the beaches of our little island. Just the numbers we saw from our vantage point proved Dante's word and all of our fears. They would have destroyed us. Their arrival in the night would have taken us completely by surprise. It would have been absolute chaos. I spoke later with the folks from the islands north of us that got some of our wave and they too would have been ghoul-food if not for our warning. One of the islands, a satellite where there used to be one of those over-priced rich fucker resorts, had a few people living on it. In the beginning they begged us for help and supplies. We taught them how to live and then they stopped communicating. We never heard from them again.

Seven days we watched until the flow died down. We figured that they had come ashore, searched our island and then moved on. Dante made us wait another week, reminding us about the hold that was flooding. Sure enough, another wave, albeit a smaller one went by. Nineteen days later, he took a group of people, about fifty and went back to the island. They were gone for most of the day and came back at sunset. The men said that they had gone most of the way into the interior and had not seen anything, but Dante had recommended that they clear all the houses before letting people back. They had even brought back more supplies for everyone.

It took another week to clear the houses. Dante was a beast when it came to that. I didn't get to see it, but the guys that did got hard-ons just talking about how he killed those ghouls. "You shoulda seen it. There were, like, fifty of 'em and he just goes in there and starts swingin' his hammer and they drop like ten-penny nails." There was one guy that actually said it seemed like Zack was afraid of him.

Dante was around for some of the story-telling. He would just smile and shrug or crack a joke. At the end of it all, Shanice held a ceremony for him back at the town hall. She offered him a house and a permanent welcome to stay for as long as he liked. There were a few of us girls that were hoping he would stay. Hey, maybe he didn't want to rape me, but after hearing some of the stories and seeing him standing watch on the highway, I could have had a good time raping _him._ Sadly, he broke all of our hearts and asked to be taught how to sail. That took all of another week bringing his time with us to about a month. He left us his clunker and then sailed off into the sunset on a catamaran around the fourth of July.

**II**

**(I arrive at my destination by boat. My boatman is a swarthy, one-eyed Cajun named Lafayette "Bon Temps" Dorsett. He works the gondola-style boat with a long oar that guarantees that he never needs to get near the water. On his belt is a cutlass that I am sure is an antique and a genuine Colt Peacemaker. He would almost look the part of a pirate were it not for the John Deere ball-cap and stereotypical stained bib overalls. His accent is almost as thick as the humid air and curtains of mosquitoes that hang above the bayous of this small Louisiana parish, but out among the swamps he is quiet. We're well north of New Orleans but a fair distance from Baton Rouge deep in the Atchafalaya Basin. I caught the boat from the ancient, one bar and two paved roads town of Maison Du Diable a leftover trapper's town relic from the days when Louisiana was owned by the French.**

**We approach our destination, an island that holds another relic of the French era. Lafayette pulls the oar from the water wiping the crud away from the paddle and turns it upside down to sound the bottom. He starts humming to himself quietly as he pokes into the muck. He stops in mid-note for a moment, feeling something in the oar. A hand creeps to his Peacemaker as he gives the unknown thing a second, sharper jab. The oar shakes violently in his hand and he relaxes. He flashes me a toothy grin and assures me that it was just a gator on the other side of the oar.**

**We come ashore on the island and he points toward a large stone wall with a solid wrought iron gate. It and the buildings behind it are the only intact structures standing. Aside from my destination are the ruins of a village that boasts an age of greater than two hundred years. The setting with its dark waters hiding unseen dangers and millions of trees with hanging Spanish moss has a claustrophobic feel. I turn back to the boat and find Lafayette has already pushed away from the shore toward deeper water. He assures me that he'll be back to get me in the morning and that I should get inside before it gets dark.**

**I follow his advice. I don't have to knock, the gate opens just enough to allow me to enter and then my greeter closes it behind me, securing it with a large iron bar. I cannot exactly place the exact type of architecture of my new home but it seems gothic. The layout of the complex is similar to the Cloisters in New York. My greeter, also my host is dressed in what is best described as a monk's robe. His head and face are devoid of hair and he has a welcoming smile on his lips and in his blue eyes. He takes my hand in both of his and gives it a surprisingly hearty shake for such a small man. He is called Brother Thomas, though his given name is Justin Boudreaux formerly of Maison Du Diable now a member of the Order of Saint Raphael.)**

I say _bienvenue_, brother. Your trip was good yeah? What did ya'll think of Brother Bon Temps, huh? He can be a strange one. A good man he is, though, a good man. Always lookin' after us, he is. Please, come inside. The sun go down soon an' out the bayou ain't where ya'll wanna be come nightfall.

**(I follow him inside where I remove my shoes and place a pair of supplied sandals on my feet. Brother Thomas leads me through a chapel to a dining hall where there is a large table. About twenty monks are seated there eating in total silence. Brother Thomas leads me through the room and to a much smaller room with a much smaller table.)**

The brothers are glad ya'll are here and would be welcomin' ya'll an' such, but they's taken a vow of silence. They's don' wanna be 'sposed to the temptation of speakin' no. Ya'll go on an' sit now.

**(The door opens and one of the other monks arrives carrying a two large bowls filled with what smells like crawdad gumbo. He sets them down and nods to Brother Thomas who nods in return)**

Brother Jacob made his best jus' fo' you. Dig on in an' get some.

**(After several minutes and a few bites of the piping hot gumbo, Brother Thomas leans back in his chair, an empty bowl before him.)**

Whoowee, that was good yeah. Brother Jacob can sling some gumbo. Ya'll here looking to talk 'bout Dante now? I's reckon you found us on that map he had when he come here back then. Like all things there be a back story to this here. Ifn' you got the patience, I'll tell you.

Like most, I been 'round here my whole life. Furthest I been from the devil's house is down the Big Easy wit' ma _frère_ Nicky. I's a bayou bumpkin' for true an' forever. Most the time I jus' run round this way. I'm sure you can 'magine weren't nothin' much ado out this way save for racin' boats, shootin' skeet, an' makin' trouble. I used to come out this way wit' the boys an' tag on the walls of this place, kick over the stones in the ruins, an' leave all our empties for them to clean. We knew they couldn't talk on an account o' they vows. Who better to take 'vantage of then folk can't talk on you, no?

When ole Zack come callin' down Maison Du Diable, we's caught by surprise. Know that we wasn't havin' no real televisions an' such out this way an' radio signal's choppy at best. I's don't mean to say we was all backwoods an' ignorant neither. Some us would head into Baton Rouge on weekend time an' it be from them we stay current, yeah. A lot us figure ain't nothin' can't be solved with a few shotgun shells an' some words from the Good Book. Come thinkin' 'bout it, maybe we was all backwoods ignorant, yeah?

This day, we still ain't sure where they come from. Jus' one night they come out the swamp. Droves of 'em. First reaction o' everyone was grab a either a gun or a Bible an' head either to the church or t' town proper where they could make a stand. As fer me, I's headed the other way. Somethin' in me says, "Don't be stupid. Get your gun and head away from all the shootin' and hollerin'" I's tried to get Nicky an' a few others t' follow me down, but they's had battlin' in they's blood. Called me coward an' sissy an' whatnot. Maybe I was, but that voice was strong in me. So run's what I did. I hopped in the boat and headed here.

**Why here?**

Like I said, we may be a bit out the way but we's not exactly in the dark, no. I heard few things from kin down New Orleans an' such. I knows I needs to go someplace strong an' out the way. This place built by the French t' keep out them Indians used live 'round here. 't stood for almost a hundred years 'fore it become US land. I came bangin' an' hollerin' for the mercy o' the brothers here. They let me in. What I musta looked like to them, whoowee. I was covered in scum an' drenched to the bone. I musta smelled somethin' awful yes sir. I's told 'em 'bout ole Zack an' how they's come to town an' how sorry I was for the trouble I'd caused. They's put me at ease, took my shotgun even though I's told 'em we would need it if'n Zack came. Then they's told me to hush. **(He laughs)**

Well not _told_ me told me, but you understand? I didn't understand it at the time either, but then they took off the lock on the door there an' put on a bigger one. Took five o' the brothers to lift it. While they's was doin' that, a few o' the others went 'round an' blew out the lanterns up on the highest bits o' the walls. Then they's ushered me into the chapel there an' sealed that door too. Brother Mark led me to a basin where's I could wash up an' he gave me one o' they robes so's I didn't have to wear my filthy clothes. When I's was done I's came in an' found 'em in sanctuary, prayin'. I's thought it was kinda hokey, them's prayin' for folk an' all, but I's didn't say nothing, no. They's pulled me in outta harm's way an' after all I'd done, shoot.

**What happened next? **

**(The change in his eyes indicates emotional struggle.)**

**Take your time.**

We was in the chapel all night. Come dawn, the brothers left chapel an' went out in the courtyard. I's slept through most of what went on. When I's come out of chapel, Brother Michael, Brother Gabriel, and Brother Luke were coming back in from outside the wall. They had these staffs with them. I's never seen 'em before. They also wasn't wearin' they robes, either. They had on leather with the chain mail like the knights o' old. They staffs had heavy balls on one end, an' spikes on the other. The balls an' the spikes was coated in the black blood of ole Zack. I's wasn't knowin' that then no. They was lookin' at the other brothers an' they look was enough make the fires of hell turn to rivers o' ice. I looked by them an' saw my _frère_ Nicky's shirt. I went to the gate, but the brothers stepped in my way.

"What's wrong wit' ya'll?" I asked 'em. "That's my _frère_, my brother, ya'll." I shoved the brothers, harder than I should all things considered. I forced my way out an' saw that he's was dead. Ole Zack had gotten to 'im. He's chewed up somethin' awful. I looked beyond him an' seen more bodies. They's had to been dozens an' all o' they was from Maison Du Diable. Some was all Zacked up, yeah? Some wasn't. Looked like they was tryin' to get in an' Zack got 'em. I knew most of 'em.

I's started to cry, an' I's started howlin' an' blubberin' like a baby. I's looked back at my _frère_ an' thought 'bout what all had t' happen with him an' started crying loud. Ole Zack answered my howlin' with some o' his own. I didn't hear 'em but Brother Gabriel did. The other brothers came out an' tried draggin' me back inside. I's ashamed to say I fought them. Brother Luke ended the argument with the ball end of his staff. When I's woke up, it was night an' my head was poundin' somethin' awful. Brother Luke was tendin' to me an' I could see he was sorry for what he done. At first, I couldn't find it in me t' forgive 'im. Then I's spoke with Brother Daniel, the eldest of the Order.

**Not **_**spoke**_** with spoke with?**

No, Brother Daniel spoke to me. He broke his vow of silence to educate me. He figured the Good Lord would forgive him if'n he broke his word to minister. Come with me.

**(Brother Thomas leads me out of the room and deep into the chapel where there is a hidden stair leading down. Basements in Louisiana are difficult to come by due to the high water table. The fact that this ancient structure has one is both a testament to the ingenuity of its architect and the resourcefulness of its builders. We travel down the steps and into a catacomb where the walls are marked with names and dates all in Latin. The setting is surreal, almost like out of an adventure movie. Adding to that is Brother Thomas' use of a torch to light our way. We walk for far longer than I think we should before coming to a door. Brother Thomas opens the door and we enter a room lined with bookshelves that are loaded with books. In the center of the room a carving of Saint Raphael holds a large, leather-bound book in its hands. The book is old but not so much when compared to some of the other tomes in the room. Brother Thomas stands next to the book.)**

Look, but don't touch it, no, and no pictures, hear?

**What is this?**

This is the history of our order. This book be o'er two hunnerd years old.

**(As he talks he opens the book and flips through the pages. He handles them carefully as if they will crumble to dust in his hands.)**

The Knights of the Order of Saint Raphael come to be here by the French. The ruins was of one of the first towns here. It be like that place in Virginia, yeah?Ro… somethin' or th' other.

**Roanoke?**

Yeah that be it right there. Well they was livin' out this way tryin' build up a good Christian place when ole Zack come callin'. Fools they was, the folks kept tryin' to put a place out this way. They call back to the big church for help. The church send the Knights of Saint Raphael t' come an' deal with the problem. They come an' finds ole Zack. This book say them Knights fought near a month t' clear out the place. When they done they build the town an' this place here. Town got wiped out in a flood. Folks wasn't all that Christian by that time so they's left. The Order stayed.

**An order of Knights sanctioned by the Catholic Church dedicated to killing zombies? Where did the Knights come from?**

No, no, they ain't dedicated to takin' out ole Zack. From what I's learned they's has history with ole Zack datin' back to Crusadin' times. Don't know it all, yet. I's still being trained. Brother Daniel explained this to me. He brought me down here just like I did you. All that bein' explained, I forgave Brother Luke an' I been here ever since.

**What happened when Dante came?**

Dante come in mid-summer some time after things died down round here. Durin' the day we's work outside. At nights we's go into the chapel an' seal it tight. Can't no sound get in there. That's why I didn't hear nothin' that first night. It was one mornin' we come out for the day's work. We hear ole Zack moanin' an' howlin' outside so Brother Michael an' Brother Gabriel suit up an' head out to deal with them. I's head for the garden an' that's where I find 'im. Dante had climbed him on over the wall. He was in a bad way so I's gone to the brothers for help an' we carried him inside.

**What do you mean? What was wrong with him?**

I knows he's some sort o' legend an' all, but he didn't know nothin' 'bout makin' it through no bayou when he come here. Critters in this place'll eat you alive an' I ain't just talkin' 'bout gators. Plus, we's surrounded by water. Can't drink it though, least not straight. Get you the runs somethin' awful an' that'll do just as much damage as anythin'. Dante was sick with fever an' the flies an' skeeters had done got to him. He's was weak as a baby. Musta been work o' the Devil that he find this place and the Will of God give him strength to climb that wall with ole Zack probably snappin' at his tail.

Brother David and Brother Daniel tended to him for the rest of the day an' into the night. I helped. I's happy to see someone not wearin' brown. I's was goin' a bit stir-crazy I ain't ashamed t' say. Dante slept most the day an' all night. Musta been dead tired. Next day he woke up an' we got us some answers.

He told us he's sailed from the east coast comin' into the Gulf an' then following the panhandle o' Florida. From there, he come up the rest o' the way by land. I's don' know how he done it. What I heard Louisiana was crawlin' with ole Zack. They's supposed to be fillin' the basin back then. He tell us he got in a bad way tryin' to make it through the bayou. Didn' say where he's headed an' all. Said, he hit the bayou on the north side o' Lake Pontchartrain. He says, "It all went to shit from there." He's gotten bit by everythin' save fo' gators an' ole Zack. Spider bit 'im an' the bite got all sickly an' whatnot. Oh yeah, he's in a bad way, yes sir. That strange super suit 'o his was jus' 'bout hangin' off his bones. He could barely lift that hammer o' his. If'n he don't find us then, he'd probably not have made it.

**How long was he with you?**

Rest o' the summer an' a little into the fall. While he was here, he rested an' sought knowledge. Smart one that Dante there. He's could figure what this place was. Took one look at those staffs of the brother's an' knew exactly what they's was for. He liked the armor the brothers wore there an' they took kindly to his hammer. Nothin' really Christian 'bout a big ole thumper like that, but they liked it them. I's told him how t' make it through the bayou. How's t' walk an' what to eat. Basic stuff, yeah? The brothers taught 'im what they knew o' ole Zack an' how they's dealt with 'em all this time.

**Did Brother Daniel or any of the others talk to him?**

No, not a word. They "talked" usin' these books. Dante had a question; they'd bring him the book with the answer. After 'bout a month or so, he got to runnin' 'round the place, getting' back fit an' all. After two months he'd go out with Brother Michael an' Brother Gabriel or Brother Luke an' take care any o' ole Zack that come 'round. After seein' him do it few times, I's figured I could help some kinda way.

**Did they train you how to use their weapons?**

No, not at first. First, I's was just helpin' with the dead Zack. We took 'em an' burned 'em in this spot on the other side of the island there.

**Did you ever see Dante fight?**

Aw yeah, yes sir I seen him do what he do. Even sickly an' recoverin' he's was somethin' to watch. It was early September I believe an' we had a few show up sometime durin' the night. They's heard us come out the chapel an' was comin' towards the wall. Brother Michael, Brother Luke, and Dante go out to meet 'em. I follow but stays back like they want. Turns out there's more an' just a few o' ole Zack. They's comin' from all sides. I tell you what, I's was longin' for my shotgun. Dante mutters somethin' 'bout takin' a few comin' out the swamp. I gotta tell you, when ole Zack come outta the muck an' the mire like that, it chills me deep yeah.

I watch Dante go walkin' toward five o' them with no fear. He pulls his mask up as he gets close an' I hold my breath. He hefts that hubcap he calls a shield an' raises his hammer. He gets closer than even the brothers ever get an' I's thinkin' all the work we did nursin' him's 'bout to go for nothin'.

The first one goes fo' him, an' Dante breaks its walkin' knee with one kick. He swings his hammer into the back o' its head as it's fallin'. Ain't enough t' kill it, but it knocks it sprawlin' an' the thing can't move. Dante spin an' turns his _back_ to 'em as he whacks another in the face with his hubcap. It goes sprawlin'. Dante turns back an' takes a swing with his hammer. I's heard ole Zack's skull crunch. It falls back into the muck. The fourth falls to the axe end o' his hammer. He swings up at it like he's knockin' a shot at a golf course. Top o' ole Zack's head maybe flew twenty feet. Dante walks 'round ole Zack as it falls t' the ground an' drops the last one with a hard swing right at the side o' its head. He turns an' takes out the two he knocked over an' then motions to me.

I just stood there a moment. Brother Michael an' Brother Luke was still puttin' theirs down an' there Dante was ready for more. He slung his hammer an' helped me movin' the bodies to the burn pit. I's asked him how he felt 'bout killin' ole Zack. I uses terms like "it" an' all but I know they's people like me an' you once. I never killed ole Zack before an' I wanted to know what all it was like yeah? Dante looks as if'n he's thinkin' 'bout it an' he says, "It has t' be a cursed life, wanderin' 'round with no mind, killin' everythin' an' everyone you know. Bein' always hungry an' never full no matter what. If'n there's anythin' left o' who they was in there. They's gotta be cryin' out t' be free. So's I's not really killin' ole Zack, I's settin' free who they was." I's paraphrasin', o' course. Dante didn' talk like me, no.

After that, that's how life was down here 'till he go end o' October. Just one day, he felt good enough to get on an' he told us. We's sorry to see 'im go an all but it was his time t' move on. He left one chilled mornin' an' we ain't seen 'im since.

**You've been with the Knights of the Order of St. Raphael since the start of the war?**

Yes sir.

**And in all that time, you haven't ascended to a full ranking member. Why is that?**

In old times, the order had heralds that were lower ranked members. They's did the talkin' for the brothers when words was needed. You could say I's filled that role during an' after the war. Not that there's much need now. Folks got theyself pretty much back to normal. As for the rest, the doctrine is clear. A brother of the order needs t' be at peace with hisself before he take his vows. T' be at peace, there need be forgiveness.

The night I come to be here, I left my family, my friends, my home. I abandoned them to the mercy o' demons that don't know mercy. Some o' them that I knew, died on the brink o' salvation. My own _frère_ died at this doorstep. The fault is mine yeah. It be some time since that night. I still can't forgive me, no. Maybe someday, though. Maybe someday.


	3. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

**The Indoctrination of ARO "D"…**

**(Jasper Dawkins' interview continued…)**

**(We're out back of his property where there's a decent sized stream. Jasper has two fishing rods and some tackle. We're casting from the bank trying to get some trout. Jasper has told me that before the war the stream was almost barren of larger fish. Since the war, the population has boomed resulting in an overabundance of fish. "It's almost illegal to throw 'em back," he says as we make our first casts. The weather is gorgeous but there is a hint of storm on the edges of the mountain. Jasper keeps an eye on it as we talk.)**

Yeah he was back and all was well. He got back just as winter was getting a good hold of things here. He was a little lighter, a lot stronger, and a heap wiser than when he left. For the first couple of weeks it was just like old times. Well, not just like. He didn't have nightmares when he got back and there were new tenants here. I had taken my home down from the temporary list when a couple with three of their five children came over The Wall and landed here. They reminded me of my son and his wife so I decided to let them stay on.

Claire and Paul loved Dante. Their kids, Paula, Clarice, and little David loved him too. He would tell them stories of things he saw while he was over The Wall. He would edit out all the gory and scary bits and when they found out he passed through their hometown, they wanted to know everything they could. He would tell them about the plains in the spring and the islands in the summer and the forests in the fall. It was good having him back. He didn't say what it was he was looking for. Always thought he was looking for relatives or something. I did ask if he found whatever it was. He said, "Not yet".

**What happened after the first couple of weeks?**

The suits showed up.

**Suits?**

The feds, the government. Dante had told me how it was that he got back over The Wall. After doing some time working for the Red White, and Blue I could figure that they would want more answers than what he gave. They came to my house all smiles and whatnot talking stuff like, "He's a real patriot and a hero…" and "It took big brass balls to do what he did." Dante didn't want to give them a moment's thought at first. Then the uniforms started coming by. Never saw so much brass in my life. Colonels and Majors and Generals all wanting to talk to him about a few of the places he had been kissing his ass the whole time. "What's the status of the guard?" and "Is the defensiveness of the area still sound?" and "I'm putting you in for a Medal of Valor." Then they just came and took him.

**They took him?**

You betcha. Three guys in a black car pulled up, marching to my door in suits, like I don't know military when I see it. They flashed badges and I.D. cards and then made off with him. He was gone for three days. When he came back, he said that he solved the problem. I know the next question is "what do you mean Jasper?" Well I'll tell you, son. The government had kissed his ass long enough. They wanted answers. Dante had a need and so he struck a deal with them to get it.

**What kind of deal?**

Don't know exactly. I know he dealt with a federal agent named Cortez. After that he was always coming and going. A government car would show up and take him. He'd be gone for a while, and then come back. Longest he was gone I think was about a month. It went on like that for a time. He said they were training him. I thought Stacy gave him all the training he needed. Still, he came out the better for it.

**(Jasper gets a bite and starts reeling in what looks like a decent sized fish.)**

Ooh this one's a fighter. Anyway he comes back after being gone for about a week and a half. Says he was somewhere in California. Didn't elaborate as to where and I didn't ask. Come on ya bastard! He said he was crossing again. I asked him what he needed. He told me.

**What was it?**

Better armor. The motorcycle suit did him good but you could hold it up to the light and see through some parts of it. Some of the armor bits were showing too. He needed something tougher. The government had given him their experiment in Zack-proof armor. It weighed a ton. I still got it if you want to see it.

**That's okay.**

He told me about the monks in Louisiana and what they wore. I'm no seamstress, but Claire had some experience and gave me a whole load of help. Dante went and got another suit and she took out the inner lining. I added some chain mail to a few key spots.

**Did you say 'chain mail'?**

You ever see shark suits? It was even in that survival guide the guy did. I made the stuff out of steel. Once I put the mail in, it added another seven pounds to his suit, but he just sucked it up. He'd lost about fifteen pounds anyway with all that government training. Claire also made him a surcoat, that's the hooded vest/dress thing that was so famous. She used an old leather coat to make it. I made him another hammer and this trench spike that was two feet long with an eighteen inch blade. The day he left he made breakfast for everyone, shook my hand, Paul's hand, gave Claire a kiss on the cheek, said _adios_ to the kids, and off he went. This time he had a ride.

**III**

**(My quest has brought me hundreds miles into the desert outside of Las Vegas where I arrive at Jack's Junk and Tow. I am here to speak with Adrian Cortez a former member of the now-defunct FARC or Federal Acquisitions and Recruitment Commission. A former member of the Air Force and political lobbyist, Mr. Cortez has been named on numerous official documents both classified an un-classified as being the man responsible for the acquisition of the ARO known as "D".**

**I find Mr. Cortez operating a magnetic crane moving piles of junked cars from one end of the yard to another in preparation for recycling. The day is hot and dusty and I believe that my interviewee is purposely making me appreciate the invention of air-conditioning as he continues to work without seeming to notice my arrival. Mr. Cortez is a narrow-framed man but his strength is evident in both demeanor and appearance. His forearms and hands look strong enough to rip stone. He has salt and pepper hair and mostly salt stubble on his cheeks and chin. After moving several piles he shuts down the crane and comes to meet me. He smiles when he sees the sweat and discomfort on my face.)**

Hey, it's a dry heat, man.

**(I don't laugh at the joke. He shakes my hand and leads me into the main office of the junk yard. There, mercifully, the air is much cooler.)**

When I got your call, I thought you were nuts. The other guy looked for me, but I didn't like what he was selling so I avoided him. A few guys from FARC got hold of me and told me you were the real deal. They still have careers to worry about, that's why they steered clear of you. I gave up my cushy gub'ment job so what do I care, right? What do you wanna know?

**What was your role within FARC?**

FARC was a sub-division of DeStRes, **(the Department of Strategic Resources)**,responsible for acquiring resources and recruiting necessary personnel to further the war effort. I'm sure most of the country thought that we had given up when we turned tail and ran, but that wasn't the case. FARC was formed immediately after the adoption of the Redeker Plan. The goal was to find what we needed in order to win. It was first formed of a few individuals who's Military Occupational Specialties had been declared non-viable. If you programmed missile guidance systems or something else we didn't need, you ended up in a FARC Division. I was a Predator pilot. Not much need for a glorified remote-controlled airplane jockey and I couldn't simply integrate with the Army or the Marines so they sent me to FARC. It wasn't a poor choice as I found I had a knack for the work.

Recruitment was my art. I have the gift of persuasion, a gift that came in handy on many an occasion. Plus I also could find good people. Being able to spot talent is good. Being able to bring them aboard is great. That's why they sent me after Dante.

**What did the government want with Dante?**

During his first trip out, he came across some federal installations both on and off the map. He had seen firsthand what they were up against and the states of things there. He had knowledge once reserved for people much higher on the food chain than I and now those people did not have access to said knowledge. He, on the other hand, did have the knowledge and wasn't all too keen on giving it up. Being told to go fuck yourself when you try to get back over The Wall tends to do that. The OIC at the time was an ass. It took several phone calls from just about everyone to convince him to pull his head out of his fifth point of contact and let Dante back in. What he had was valuable and we needed him to be around so that we could get it.

After a few attempts at flattery, the government decided to play hardball and arrest him on a bullshit charge. He spent the first day and a half in jail saying nothing. Then I arrived and took over. The FBI was not at all pleased that the DOD was stepping on their turf, but I had the magic badge. FARC fuckers, back it up and shut it down, we need a-b-c and x-y-z for the effort.

**What did you think when you saw him?**

I didn't think he was all that great. You have to understand, we didn't even have a photo of the guy. I expected a good ole boy all tattooed up and pissed off in combat fatigues armed with his trusty boom-sticks and a two-way radio with a direct line to God, you know? When I saw him, I almost laughed and left him to the FBI. I took his map and got a couple of Intelligence guys to analyze it and they sent word that it was authentic. Every government installation he logged was exactly where it was on our maps. Looking at him through the one-way glass I saw it in his eyes. He was the real deal. I dismissed the FBI and FARC took over.

**What did you talk about?**

Sports at first. Odd topic considering but I'm a firm believer that you can tell a lot about a man by the type of sports he enjoys. Dante was a football/baseball kind of guy so we could relate. We found out that our favorite baseball teams were rivals. I'm a Mets fan originally. He's a Phillies fan. Eventually I moved things around to what we wanted.

**No questions about where he'd been and what he'd been doing?**

I had his map, I knew where he'd been and could care less what he'd been doing. Plus, he'd already been asked those questions a thousand times. No, sir, I got right to the point. Uncle Sam wanted him for a special mission. There were a lot of resources that were no longer under complete government control. Sam needed to know the status of those resources. Also we left some of our own behind as per the great plan. We wanted to know what, if anything we could tell their family members. The government wanted him to go back over The Wall and acquire the information.

**Why not use one of the established operatives?**

Are you serious? Go over The Wall when the war was at its peak? That's fucking suicide! An American soldier was far too important to risk on a mission that dangerous. Even Marines were too valuable, and we had more than our share ready to shout "Semper Fi!" all the way to oblivion. No, we wanted someone expendable. Someone we could afford to lose. Dante was that guy. Look it sounds cold, but he knew it too. He was going back across anyway, might as well put him to good use. Plus _he_ made out on the deal.

**What do you mean?**

First he got the right to cross whenever he wanted. The Wall had become his revolving door. Then there was the training he got.

**Training?**

We put his ass through some serious shit. Oh Dante knew some stuff, sure, but we gave him a more modern take on survival. He trained with some Spec Ops people, Green Berets, Army Rangers, even some SEAL guys. They taught him proper night maneuvers and wilderness survival. The SEALs took him out on the bay in San Francisco and taught him God-Knows-what. We gave him the tools and equipment to use on his mission and trained him on that. Do you know the cost of that? When the bean counters at DeStRes found out, I'm sure they nearly shit themselves. Spending all this money to train a guy that would likely be dead before he reached a mile past the front line? I was sure we were going to lose funding half-way through.

**Why didn't you?**

Because Dante had crossed twice without as much as a scratch and he had no formal training. Plus he had over three hundred documented kills to his credit with a hammer; a fucking hammer! Granted it was a damned big hammer that could do all kinds of other shit, but it was still a hammer. Oh, and after we showed them footage from Willow Creek they shut up and opened their wallets.

**Willow Creek? That was where the military did their Escape/Evade training.**

Not at the time, we were still putting those programs together and Willow Creek wasn't fully operational. We were putting the final touches on it when Dante rolled through.

**You used him to test it?**

No, he was the first trainee to go through it.

**Alone?**

Hey, that's how he traveled. Willow Creek is about realism and, anyway, that's how all the trainees did it. Look, he knew what he was getting into! We did not take advantage of him at all. You should've seen the guy. I've met with vets of the war since and not a single one of them, no matter how macho or war-beaten acted like that guy. He tore into those Gs like… like… I don't know what it was like. He actually took out just about all of our Gs. Some of the guys watching him started calling him "Anti-Zack". What he did to them was brutal.

**For example?**

I used to have a copy of the original footage from Willow Creek. The last time I watched it was about three years ago, but I still remember it. There's this part of Willow Creek, where the "creek" is more like a river. It curves around a bend into a draw and then goes over a series of waterfalls. The tallest is about twenty feet. The bottom is all rocks and debris so it's a deathtrap. The point is to stay away from there. Dante goes right for it with seven Gs on his ass. He reaches the top of the falls and we're mobilizing the rescue team when one of the egg-headed monitors stops us. He wants to see what's going to happen. I think he's lost his mind. Sure, we were manipulative and conniving, but we weren't monsters. I punched the button and mobilized the rescue team. Then I saw some shit that I still can't believe.

Dante steps into the middle of the creek and walks _towards_ them. The closest one goes to grab for him but falls, the water knocking it off its feet. Dante uses a nearby rock to jump it, kicks the next one over, raising that thumper of his over his head, and comes down on the third hard enough to send its brains squirting out of its ears. He lands and knocks the fourth aside with that mini-shield he's got, as he's winding up to hit the fifth hard enough to crush its skull _and _nearly sever its head with the hammer end at that.

I didn't see him spin the hammer but I did see the front part of the sixth G's head go flying off camera. I didn't see him spin it the second time either but his last swing knocked the seventh clean off its feet, out of the water and onto the shore. Shattered every bone in its face and forced what was left of its frontal lobe down out of the back of its skull. You figure after a fight like that he'd run, right? No Zack in front, three Zack still howling behind. We taught our guys to get gone when the opportunity presents itself. Dante _turns around_ goes back to the three and bashes their fucking brains out.

**How long did it take for the rescue team to mobilize?**

Less than three minutes. It always had to be less than three minutes. It didn't matter. By the time the team got there, they saw him disappearing into the woods and found only the Gs, now defunct. They showed up on camera, all armored up and ready to "save the civilian", but he had already done his business and gone. Standard time to run the course is about a week. Dante's time still has not been broken even though it's not the official course record.

**What was that?**

Three days. In three days he moved nearly fifty miles and killed close to seventy Zack with a hammer. That tripped out a few of the hard-core Special Forces guys.

**Why is that?**

You mean you don't know? What did you think he was some eccentric with a thing for hardware? He's no dummy. There were plenty of weapons he could have used. At that point he was sucking off the government tit and could have asked for a laser-guided flame thrower if he wanted. You wanna know the real reason why Dante used that hammer? He couldn't shoot.

**(The look on my face must amuse him because he laughs for almost a minute.)**

We tried to train him to shoot bolt-action rifles but he couldn't hit air. We must have wasted thousands of rounds of ammunition just trying to get him to zero the damned thing. At the end of it, we just said, "fuck it" and let him use his thumper.

After Willow Creek we got the funding, gave him the equipment and sent him back home with a deployment date. Some of the doubters wondered if he'd show up. I knew different. He was a man of his word. The government had come through for him, so he would come through for us. One week later, he showed up at The Wall all decked out and ready to go. We gave him three days of supplies and a ride down into the foothills. A few of the soldiers said he gave them a salute as they were driving away.


	4. Chapter IV

**Chapter IV**

**The Second Trek…**

**(After some months of extensive research I was able to find a statement given at an inquiry held during the final days of the war. The statement was provided by a then Sergeant First-Class Emory Wilson. I find now Command Sergeant Major Wilson sitting in an office in a small section of the Pentagon. The CSM is in charge of maintaining records from the Zombie War. He has agreed to meet with me under strict orders to discuss specifically the nature of his position and nothing else. As I arrive, he suggests a walk around the grounds as the weather is good. The weather is gray, cold, with rain threatening but I agree. CSM Wilson is a tall man in his late fifties with a steel gray military hair cut and piercing blue eyes. Underneath the Class B uniform one can tell that he is still fit for the battlefield.**

**We leave the Pentagon and begin walking around the grounds until we come to a small bench just off the main entrance. CSM Wilson takes a seat and gestures for me to join him. He wraps his coat tighter around himself as the wind picks up. He scans the area for a few moments before nodding to me, an indication that I can start my recorder.)**

Forgive the cloak and dagger bullshit but ever since the war and that damned inquiry I've had eyes and ears on me. There are a large number of people, myself included, who are under the impression that I got my post here because I can be monitored and controlled if need be.

**If need be?**

I'm certain you read at least some of my statement to the tribunal. The original is hidden in a vault somewhere. Still, I'm sure you could tell from the transcript how heated I was. Yeah, I was heated, full of fire and devotion to duty, honor, and country. That was me, G.I. fucking Joe. You have to understand, as the youngest in a family full of servicemen, having a successful military career was my dream. At the start of the war I volunteered for the Alpha Teams and got turned down several times. I volunteered to help make the stand at Yonkers but got turned down. In my naïve frame of mind I thought that I was being passed over because my superiors felt threatened. After the orders for Regroup came down, I offered to stay and defend those we were leaving behind. I thought I had found the fast track to an immaculate career full of accolades and awards. I entered the military hoping to catch a conflict. What I didn't know was that I would spend more time in combat than all of my predecessors combined.

I was stationed at Fort **(name withheld for security reasons)** in the wilds of **(state withheld for security reasons)**. It was an older post, still had the ancient WWII barracks and whatnot. I loved it. I felt closer to my father and my grandfather being stationed there. We turned that old fort into a beacon of safety for anyone who lived within our sphere of protection. The fort was like most Army posts. There wasn't anything in the way of real defenses other than a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire and guard posts. What we ended up doing was shrinking our post and building a makeshift wall out of stacked K-rails backed with steel beams. The wall encircled the essential areas of the fort. Outside of the wall, we set up semi-circles that interlocked with the main wall around residential areas and on the outskirts. People in the areas around us moved within our little slice of paradise and we protected them.

Our system worked extremely well and we were able to repel every type of assault. I was in command of a group of men that were brave and dedicated. They kept their military bearing throughout the entire war. We stayed locked, cocked, and ready to rock. We were even able to go out and assist a few of the citizens who had managed to build defenses of their own when they faced threats they could not handle.

**What happened next? (CSM Wilson shifts a bit on the bench as if the cold slats that have already numbed my rear end have just numbed his.)**

It's not in any record that isn't classified. I'm not sure, even to this day, what it was that led to what happened. Maybe it was PTSD, maybe just a breakdown of bearing or just an outbreak of despair, but whatever it was, our commanding officer lost her mind.

**What do you mean?**

It was just after the first snowfall of the year in late October. We'd had a cold snap so all of the Zack in the area were undead popsicles. My boys and I had been designated to go out on a seek-and-smash. We were returning as the sun was setting and I saw the other platoons prepping for mobilization, although they weren't trying to make it too obvious. I went to one of the other Sergeants and pulled her aside. She explained that the order had come down from the commander to prep for immediate mobilization westward to the Rockies. I knew we didn't have near enough resources to evacuate. Sergeant **(name withheld for security reasons)** confirmed it. We, the unit, were leaving and abandoning our civilian population. I went right to the commander's office.

**What did she say?**

She didn't even try to deny what she was doing. She'd received no orders from the Rockies or the Pentagon or even God Himself. She had decided that we were going to make a run for it and the civilians be damned. "We've been left behind to distract the zombies from the main population," she said. "The Rockies are probably populated and secured. There's no reason for us to be here anymore. It's time to go." We were set to deploy sometime in the early morning hours while our civilian population was asleep. They would wake up and find our positions deserted and their families, defenseless. Captain **(name withheld for security reasons) **tried to make herself sound magnanimous. She says, "We'll leave them a crate of weapons and a few crates of ammunition. What supplies we don't need they can have. They'll be fine."

**What did you do?**

I went back to my platoon and briefed them on the situation. I have to tell you that I trusted my soldiers with my life, but I didn't know what to expect when the prospect of freedom and safety would be dangled in front of them like a huge tasty carrot. I am proud to say that none of my soldiers disappointed me. They were appalled at what the Captain was doing and they tried to talk to the others to get them to do the right thing. I tried talking sense to the other platoon leaders but got nowhere. Our last-ditch effort was equally useless.

**What was that?**

I rallied our entire civilian population, around three hundred people, and had them standing at the gates when Captain **(name withheld for security reasons)** went to make her getaway. My platoon stood with them. I told the Captain that she was disgracing her uniform and breaking the oath she swore to on the day of her commission. I pleaded with her to see reason. If she wanted to mobilize west, we would do it as a unit and with our charges. She ordered the drivers of the lead vehicles, Armored Personnel Carriers, to drive over us if we wouldn't get out of the way. We had no choice. We stood there and watched their taillights disappear into the darkness.

A panic almost broke out immediately but I managed to keep order. The force protecting these civilians had gone from two hundred-forty to sixty with diminished supplies and no sign of assistance from the Rockies. I sent everyone back to bed, sent a few men on patrol, and worried myself to sleep on how we were going to deal with what just happened. The next day, I woke up and prayed that what had happened had been a bad dream but the vehicles and rest of the unit was gone. Still, there was a Private named Rico who came up with our next plan of action. He suggested that we shrink the walled in areas to better suit our unit size while advising the outlying settlements of the change in situation.

Another Private, Private Jennifer Davis suggested that we move the civilians to a defendable position that would be easier for us to maintain. We were a bit out in the sticks and moving to a more urban area would offer opportunities like resources and architecture that could make our mission more feasible. I liked both ideas so we went with both. Rico and his squad took some of the moving equipment and started re-modeling while Private Davis' platoon performed a reconnaissance mission towards the nearest urban center to find us a new defensive position.

We lasted two weeks before the next major attack came at the hands of a raiding party based nearby. They had been camped in the foothills of the nearby ridge for a few months and would test our defenses from time to time but not getting into any real combat. They'd harass the patrols is about all. I guess they got word that they stood a better chance of a successful attack now that our numbers were significantly lower. They showed no fear, showed up just after dawn and attacked our defenses head-on.

It didn't go well for them, but it was a Pyrrhic victory for us. We lost a few civilians and a good portion of our wall along with a decent stock of ammunition. We sent those bastards packing but when they regrouped and came back for round two, we'd either be on the losing end, or we'd no longer be able to protect our civilians. Private Davis had brought back a report from her recon mission that there were possible locations for us to base ourselves where we would not have to worry about either zombie or raider attack. We had no other options. We prepped the civilians for the fifty-mile march.

**A massive undertaking.**

To be sure since the area was pretty heavily infested at that time. The cold snap had held for the most part so if we traveled at night when it was coldest, we could avoid some of the larger groups and stave off the danger of hypothermia that came with traveling in the open. We didn't have any vehicles so we used children's wagons to carry some of the heavier supplies. We grouped the remaining civilians into column formation and positioned ourselves around them to give them better protection. We headed out after sundown, two days after the battle. To this day, I don't know if the decision I made was the right one. I think sometimes that I could have negotiated with the raiders or combined forces with the other settlements nearby. Hindsight is always the best sight.

**(He looks away and I can see that he is about to lose a battle to tears. After a moment to regain his composure, we adjourn from the benches and find a café a few blocks away. We secured a booth in a quiet corner and ordered a meal. We wait for food to arrive before continuing our dialogue. CSM Wilson is still visibly shaken and I express concern over his emotional turmoil. He assures me that he is fine and can continue.)**

**How did you fare on your journey?**

Terrible. Traveling at night kept contact with Zack down to a minimum at first with the temperatures, but people, especially the young and the elderly, don't do too well in the freezing cold. Frostbite injuries became common very quickly. During the day we would dry out socks and try to warm nearly frozen feet by meager fires as we passed out rations. Quite a few toes were lost in the first ten miles. After that, we started losing people. We'd get ready to move after resting and then find them lying on the ground or propped up next to a tree. This teenager with an infant carried her for five miles before we realized that the baby had frozen to death. Then we received a gift/curse from on high.

**What do you mean?**

The temperature changed. One night it didn't get down to freezing. The next day it got hot enough that all of us were sweating and I swore that we would start getting heat injuries. Night came and the temperature didn't drop much at all. Then the new scourge hit us.

**Zombie attacks?**

You guessed it. They came during the day. They came at night. They came from ahead, behind, the sides, from every direction. It was constant battle. Our supply of ammunition was dwindling when we abandoned Fort **(name withheld for security reasons)** so you could imagine how anxious we were to start shooting, plus our rifle-fire would immediately attract any zombies nearby. We started losing people to bites, undead cannibalism, and just plain fear. They would take off right at the outset of the fight. It didn't look like we were going to make it.

**When did Dante show up?**

He appeared one morning when we were camped out atop this hill. I was asleep with my back against a tree. I woke up and he was sitting in front of me. My rifle was in his hand. He assured me that he wasn't there for trouble. He told me that he had been following us for several miles and wanted to help. He handed me back my rifle as a show of good faith.

He asked me where we were headed. I told him our destination and he immediately stopped me from speaking. "You absolutely do NOT want to go there," he said. "It is not what it seems." Then he looked at our charges for a few minutes. When he was done, he pulled out a map and showed me where we could find a safe place to hunker everyone down. It was a spot on the face of a ridge that was accessible by a set of hiking trails. The trails came to a junction near his spot, which would make it easy for us to defend. He told me to move my people there by nightfall and then to prep two squads of men for combat.

**What happened then?**

I got everyone moving. He mobilized with us. It took some doing to convince my squad leaders that he wasn't leading us into a trap. I had to convince myself of that first. Still, they followed me and Dante was true to his word. The safe zone was a few miles away so we talked during that time. He asked me where we had come from and what unit we were with. He told me what his mission was and advised me of the state of things. It was only mildly depressing. I asked him if he had seen the remainder of my compliment in his travels. He hadn't. We reached his safe zone without as much as a single sighting.

**What happened next?**

We made camp and I prepped Second and Third Squads for deployment and combat. I wanted to lead them, but First Squad leader Corporal Harry Gands thought it was best if I stay. I think by that time the rest of my people were starting to trust Dante a bit. They stayed the night to help set up camp and defenses. They left about two hours before sunrise.

**Where did they go?**

It turns out that their destination was within spitting distance from our location. After sunrise we were able to see where they were. I couldn't monitor the fight because it happened mostly indoors but, when it was over, they signaled the all-clear from the roof.

**Is there anyone I can talk to regarding what happened?**

As a matter of fact there is. I took the liberty of calling one of my old squad leaders. Her name is Bellucci and she should be here in a few minutes.

**(We wait for about fifteen minutes before Ms. Bellucci, formerly Specialist Anna Bellucci, arrives. I am struck by her beauty at first. She is tall with long legs and a confident stride. She has auburn hair that is streaked with gray despite her age. Dressed in business casual attire, she carries a briefcase and is completing a call on a cell-phone as she approaches our table. CSM Wilson stands and gives her a hug and peck on the cheek. He explains who I am and what my purpose is. Her expression when she arrived was one of pleasant surprise. As CSM Wilson brings her up to speed, I can see more years pack onto her face and the light in her green eyes seem to dim a bit. She sighs and her shoulders sag before regaining her posture and giving a curt nod. CSM Wilson advises that he has been gone for too long but makes an appointment to meet with me later at this café. After, he excuses himself, giving Ms. Bellucci's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.)**

So you're looking into Dante?

**Yes. I felt it was time that someone paid him the respect he is deserved. Do you believe I am right to do this?**

Absolutely. My only regret is that it took over fifteen years for someone to get around to it, though it did take nearly ten years for that other guy. I'm sure Emory told you the gory details?

**He did not. He thought it best if you did.**

I understand. This is not going to be easy for me. I have not told this story to anyone but my therapist in a very long time. I'll give you the Reader's Digest version of the back-story. Grandfather, father and brother all went into the military. I was the consummate tomboy so I joined as well. I chose to be a military police officer because it was the closest I could get to being in a combat specialty MOS at the time. Got stuck at Fort **(name withheld for security reasons)** where I was abandoned first by our upper chain of command, then our immediate chain of command.

Our smaller version of the Trail of Tears was hard on me especially because of the friends I had made among the civilian population. I liked being a role model for the younger girls. I showed them that they could be feminine and still pursue dreams formerly reserved for our masculine brethren. It got bad when folks started dying. I began to lose hope when we had to take Katie's baby away from her. When the zombie attacks started, I just about gave up. Dante showing up changed all that.

When Emory came to us and told us to prep for deployment, I wasn't quite sure what he was trying for. We had established the first good base-camp in days and looked to maybe enjoy a night without an attack. Private Davis' destination was another day's travel. There was no reason to go looking for a fight. I just about threw down my rifle and marched off into the wilderness when I got told that we were headed somewhere else. One of my battle buddies squared me away before I could. His name was William Jeffries a PFC from Georgia. "Let's hear what they have to say," he told me.

Dante and Emory took us up to the top of the ridge and pointed out our new home. It didn't look like much, a building in a corporate center. I could see some of the windows were broken with spidered glass and signs of fire. Emory made it clear that the mission was solely to establish a beachhead. The building was five stories tall and we were going to pacify the first two. That's when Dante moved and began to speak.

**What did he say?**

He outlined a plan where my, Second Squad, and Third Squad would go to the building and we would set about securing the first two floors for habitation. He said that he had some experience clearing houses and that he would lead us. Emory made sure that we would listen by ordering us to do so. Dante had clearly been inside the building because he had a map in the form of a plaque pulled from a wall. We set out for our new home just before first light the next morning.

**What was that like?**

It's hard to describe. I guess it felt good to be accomplishing something again. Don't get me wrong, our mission to get to where Davis' people had found was definitely an accomplishment, but in this new mission we found a second wind of sorts. It was as if we were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and it wasn't fifty thousand miles away. Plus we were going to do something that had been nigh impossible in the time since the others abandoned their post.

**Which was what?**

We were going to make our civilians safe again. A lot of them wanted to come with us to help, but we needed as small a force as possible to move over the terrain. We got to the building at about noon. Dante inspected our weaponry, it was pre-Reclamation stuff, completely ineffective in undead combat. I remember him actually scratching his head, trying to figure out how we were going to fight. Finally he came up with a solution. Aside from our rifles, we all had pistol back-ups and bayonets. He gave us the order to fix bayonets and told us that under no circumstances were we to open fire. A few of us thought he was off his rocker, but we went along anyway.

Then, he paired us up. He instructed us that one would stay ahead of the other. The strategy was to have the person on point knock a G down and then the back-up would take it out with a stab to the head. He told us to make sure to twist so that the brain would be absolutely destroyed. We had an even number of us so everyone had a back up. Dante would fight alone.

**Describe what happened, and use as much detail as you can remember.**

The building was the typical box-style commercial architecture with a shit-ton of glass and steel. The main lobby was made of mostly glass so it didn't survive the Panic. We almost freaked but Dante calmed us and said that the lobby wasn't the first of our two floors. We were taking the second and third floors and leaving the lobby as a lost effort. What we _would_ have to do is secure the entrance to the fire stairs on both sides of the lobby.

**Please explain?**

Sure. The key to securing any commercial building is to get control of the fire stairs and the elevators. What we needed to do was to disable access to the fire stairs from the lobby. That way no G could stumble their way inside our perimeter. The elevators were nothing to be concerned about since the building didn't have power. We accessed the building through a door at a loading dock and then moved straight to the lobby via a service hallway at the back of the east stairs. We secured the doors from the lobby by removing the push-bar assembly. We then went up the stairs and removed the push-bar assemblies from all the access doors except for the second and third floors. That turned out to be the easy part. We had control of the stairs and the danger area that was the lobby was neutralized. That was when the mission got serious.

We were crouched at the door to the second floor and could hear shuffling feet on the other side. Dante saw the fear in our eyes and got our attention. He told us to be calm. He reminded us of the battle plan. Strike them down, then take them out. He told us to wait for the right moment to strike and not to get careless. Then he said, "By the numbers". We left Third Squad to cover the stairs. Then we went in.

The hallway was empty but there were signs of Zack everywhere. Blood stained the carpets, the walls, the doors to the offices, and even the ceiling. There were footprints and handprints all over and the stench of rot was almost overpowering. There was an office to the left. Dante turned to us and motioned for us to move silently. He pointed to a pair of guys, Jeffries and his battle buddy, a PV1 named Darius and directed them to go inside. He silently snapped his fingers, reminding us that this sweep was to be quick. Check the obvious places and then get back to the rest of the group. They were in and back out in under a minute. We moved forward.

Our next position had offices on both the left and the right. Dante deployed two teams at a time. Privates Daniel Hawthorne and Rachel Skip went to the left. Dante, PFC Horace Jasper, and I went to the right. Our office was a decent size with a mini-maze of cubicles set in the center and a few walled offices in the back. Horace and I went down the aisles together while Dante shadowed us. We made it to the back of the office before we made contact.

He was a fat bastard wearing torn and filthy coveralls with the name "Bubba" on the front. His face was half chewed away and one of his eyes was missing. He saw us and began lurching towards us. His mouth went slack and air hissed out of his throat. He couldn't moan because there was a large hole in his flabby neck. I was terrified and so was Horace. We started to back away.

"Stand your ground," we heard Dante say. "Get into position." I took point and hefted my rifle, which seemed like I might as well have been holding a large feather duster. This guy was huge. I had a magazine full of ammunition. I could just shoot the fucker and not let him get close enough to touch me. I sighted down my rifle and heard Dante hiss "don't!" "Take him!" he whispered. I turned my weapon so that the stock was aimed at the G and waited. I thought my heart would explode. It was like the thing was moving at me in slow motion.

Then, wouldn't you know it, I felt something. Something in my brain yelled at me to swing and I clocked that fuck with a butt-strike that would have made my drill sergeants proud. I could feel the bones in that freak's face crack when I hit him. He fell backward. Horace pounced almost before G was fully down and speared almost the entire barrel of his rifle through the G's eye. He twisted his weapon twice before pulling back. The fat G stopped moving. It was dead. Horace and I looked at each other. We were bathed in sweat and looked like two frightened children.

"Good job," we heard. We turned and saw Dante standing nearby. We'd forgotten he was there. I almost shrieked when we saw another G come out of the cubicle at Dante's back. Dante spun and brought his hammer around. He knocked the damned thing off its feet and almost across the room. There was a spray of black goo and the wet crunch of bone being destroyed along with the organ underneath. Again, we were speechless. "I hate when those things do that," he said. "Let's go." We went back out to the hallway and thought for sure that we'd see our squad anxious and waiting for us to come out. We thought we'd been in that office for hours. We came out just as Hawthorne and Skip were coming out of their office. They didn't have anything.

It took us less than twenty minutes to clear the second floor. We found about ten Gs and took them out with no problem. Then we moved Third Squad up out of the stairwell. They went with Dante to the third floor while we disposed of the bodies. They managed about the same numbers as us and, like us, suffered zero casualties. Once all the bodies were taken care of, we prepped the offices for the civilians and established a barracks area for us. By that time it was nightfall and time to signal Emory and the others that it was safe to move.

**How did you do that?**

Using a small flashlight that Dante had on him. He had a couple of solar-powered gadgets that the government had given him. It was good seeing those things after being out for so long. It was a sign that our side was still thinking. About an hour after we sent the flashes out, Emory arrived with the civilians.

**(Interview with CSM Wilson continued…)**

**(My host has returned from his station at his desk, a bit weary from the day's tedium, but anxious to continue his story.)**

We waited with baited breath when Dante marched off with Second and Third Squads. All the while, doubts danced in the back of my mind. I didn't know Dante from a hole in the ground. He could have been some wacko leading my people into a trap. Anything was possible during the war. When I saw the flashes, I still didn't relax. I don't think I was good until we arrived at the building and was met by the leader of Third Squad Corporal Allen Stevens. Once inside, I got a measure of what had been done. The beachhead had been established. With the complete force present, we had to take the rest of it.

**How long did that take?**

We took our time and did one floor a day. We were only going to occupy the first two floors. The remaining floors we ultimately used for storage, agriculture and as a means of keeping watch over our area. Dante led the sweep-and-clear missions. I followed along and learned his techniques. They were very efficient. We took the whole building without one round being fired. We set up the aforementioned agriculture using soil from outside along with pots that we found inside the offices. We had seed packets from our base so we just made an indoor garden in the area of the building that got the most sun. We got water from a nearby creek and managed to catch a few fish from there from time to time so food wasn't scarce. When it was over, Dante marked us off on the map and promised to let command know we were there. It was some time later when we began seeing planes and getting supply drops.

**What was the ultimate aftermath of what had happened?**

A formal inquiry was held after Reclamation. Statements were taken from everyone and testimony was recorded from us and the civilian population. At the time, it was determined that releasing the details of the incident was, and I'm quoting, "not conducive to the public interest".

**Meaning?**

They covered it up. Chalked up what happened to the stress of war and combat and just let it go. At the time they were looking for heroes. They wanted to show the folks back on the safe side of The Wall that even in our darkest hours there were American beacons of hope and light shining amongst the gray sea of our enemy. They wanted icons of our country to pin medals to and base propaganda on. The rest of my unit managed to make it back to The Wall to a hero's welcome. Everyone thought they were so brave for making the trek across infested areas. Every one of those bastards got medals for valor, _valor!_ When I heard the tribunal's decision I shot to my feet and literally screamed injustice. I called warhorses, Generals with years of combat experience, cowards and disgraces to the uniform. I pulled their consciences to the forefront and demanded justice for those people that I had come to know, love, and respect. I called a Medal of Honor recipient a disgrace to the award.

I was a First Sergeant, then. After my outburst, I was sure that my military career was over. I thought that they would give me an honorable discharge with a psych tab added to my jacket and send me home. When I was called for an award ceremony that filled my racks with ribbons and medals, I was absolutely sure. Then I was removed from my unit and assigned a post in the Pentagon where I was quickly promoted and slammed behind a desk. They buried me and the incident underneath rank and a classified tab. They'll keep me here another five years or so and then force me out. By then, no one will care. "The war sucked for everybody," they'll say. "I'm sure those people don't want that kind of hell brought up." When I retire, they'll bury me again, in medals.


	5. Chapter V

**Chapter V**

**Home from Active-Duty…**

**(Interview with Jasper Dawkins continued…) **

**(After a day of fishing and drinking home-brewed lager, we are inside Jasper's kitchen and he is cooking up a bit of today's catch for dinner. While I wait, I am looking at a wall of pictures. Jasper explained previously that they are of all the people he housed during the war. I can see that he has collected before and after pictures of everyone. There is one picture of a young Black man wearing a red t-shirt and blue jeans. He's not overly impressive in physique and has close-cropped hair and a moustache and goatee. He is smiling but there is something about his eyes. There is also the hint of a yellow handle in the background.)**

Yep, that's him. That's Dante. Not as big as you thought he would be is he? Everyone thinks he was just this massive hulk or something. You can't be a muscle-bound man-mountain and go traipsing all over the continent. Stuff like that makes you lean.

**(He brings over two large grilled trout with a side of vegetables and more beer)**

**What happened after Dante got back from his tour of duty?**

It was like the first time. I woke up in the morning and came down to a ready-made breakfast and a smiling Dante at the stove. Claire and Paul were still here then and they were already eating. Anyway he was back and glad to see all of us. I asked him how it was and he said it was easier than the first time but didn't elaborate and I didn't ask him to. He voluntarily went into the sound-proofed room for a couple of nights but I think it was more to get away from the sounds of the house than to shield us from his dreams.

**Why do you say that?**

Well he'd been sleeping out in the country for so long, that he had gotten used to that kind of quiet. He would take naps on the couch in the living room with the television on and everything to get himself used to being around people again. I think it took a month for him to stop carrying his hammer everywhere. Things on this side of The Wall had died down. The frantic pace of life had relaxed somewhat. People were beginning to go about their lives. Regroup had become Stalemate. After a month of quiet, the black sedans started showing up again and Dante kept getting called away.

**To where?**

Who knows? He was a government man at that point and they could use him as they saw fit. Listening to a conversation, apparently he had stumbled across some serious shit out there and they wanted more answers as usual. They'd keep him usually for a day or two and then bring him back. I'd ask what went on and he'd tell me "talking" or "teaching" or "bullshit". He'd never go into it, even when I did ask. Then they started taking him for longer. Two weeks at a time he was gone. He'd come back and stay a week or so and then be gone again. Then the explanation was teaching, always teaching. I put it together that the government had decided to begin training for the eventuality that some people would want to go home and that they were going to have to make that possible. They needed instruction on how to survive on the other side of The Wall. Who better to teach them, than Dante? It was about that time that Donna showed up.

**Donna?**

Yeah son, Donna, and I'm leaving her last name out of this, was a government broad that I didn't trust at first. She used to be FBI back when there was need for them. After Regroup she went to work for DeStRes. I'm assuming that's how she and Dante met. He didn't mention her or anything. It was kind of funny. One night we're all sitting around talking and laughing and the doorbell rings. Little David gets up and answers the door. Dante is sitting on the sofa when he jerks upright and turns towards the entrance to the living room. David appears with this woman.

**What did she look like?**

Hispanic and beautiful, that's all you need to know. She was wearing a dark gray suit, typical of the DeStRes guys and was carrying a briefcase. She greeted everyone in the room and stared at Dante and Dante just stared back. Paul and Claire suddenly found a reason to put the kids to bed and I realized that there was something extremely interesting going on in some other part of the house. I checked back in on them after a bit and saw that they were sitting and talking friendly-like over a couple of beers.

**Jasper, you have to tell me who Donna is.**

No, son, I don't. That little lady was downright crushed when she found out Dante died. She spent a lot of time on that couch watering my shoulder. It took her a long time to get over it and she finally did. I like you and I can tell you're doing the right thing by Dante but there are some parts of a man's life that are reserved for those in his life. He and Donna had absolutely nothing to do with what all he did for others. Just let your readers know that, for a brief time, there was something other than whatever his obsession was.

**I can understand. What was he like with her?**

While he was here, he would let us in emotionally and all but he was still a little guarded. Probably saving his true self for whatever or whoever he was looking for out there. We knew it and accepted it. It was his way, that's all. With Donna, he was different. I think she managed to break through and reach him. While he was with her, I think I can say he was happy. Donna was here just about three times a week. She became a part of the family.

**So what happened?**

Maybe he got scared. I don't know. Normalcy for someone who lives in the abnormal can be a difficult transition, ask any combat vet. Relationships are hard, even established ones. A while into whatever it is they had, he shut her out. He became distant and evasive. We all saw it. I even talked to him about it. He had that look and way about him. I knew it all too well at this point. He was going over again.

About two months before he left, he came to me and asked for another hammer. I was tempted to tell him no, but I knew he would just leave with the one that he had and if it was faulty in some way and he died because of it, he wouldn't resent me for it, but I would resent myself. So I built him a new one. This one was different. I heated the steel differently which made it harder, and I made the head a bit bigger and a bit heavier. All the while, I was trying to convince him not to go. He had a decent life and what he was looking for was obviously beyond his reach. I guess he wasn't ready to believe that. When he left, all I got was a note like the first time. This one read "you may be right, but I need to know-D".

_**Author's note: Despite Jasper's misgivings, I researched "Donna" and found Special Agent Donna Clemente an FBI analyst who was formerly stationed in Kansas City, MO but was evacuated behind The Wall and continued to work with DeStRes. Pictures found match Jasper's "expert" description along with paperwork that indicated an assignment working with ARO "D". After further research I tracked her location to Philadelphia, PA where she lives in the Mt. Airy neighborhood.**_

_**I arrived outside of her home early on a Saturday morning. Donna Clemente had become Donna Charles. From my vantage point, I saw Mrs. Charles along with her husband and three small children. They were playing in a sprinkler while Mr. Charles cooked on an open barbecue grill. The weather and setting was perfect. Jasper was right. Donna had moved on. At that moment I decided not to pursue her for this work. Though it may be lacking both factually and artistically to omit her account of her time with him, I feel I am doing both she and Dante a favor by letting this part of Dante's life stay private.**_


	6. Chapter VI

**Chapter VI**

**The Third Trek…**

**(Much of Dante's third trek into the infested wasteland that was the US remains a mystery. After a few months of digging through old government papers, a verbal account from a refugee and a faded map has revealed a promising lead; a former wartime settlement in central PA known as "Valhalla". I traveled there from Pittsburgh hoping to get lucky.**

**Upon arriving at Valhalla, I find that it is a very large gated community taking up nearly one thousand acres tucked deep in the hills. It has clothing, hardware, and grocery stores. It has its own pre-school, kindergarten, primary, and high schools. It features the stilted construction of post-war architecture. It is also owned, managed, operated, and populated by White Supremacists.**

**No one Supremacist group has the majority. Members of all of the known and a few lesser-known groups have found a home here. Upon seeing the flags draped over the reinforced wall. I am struck by the obvious question regarding the legality of this. This was something that was not explained to me when I spoke with the public relations person. My racial background was also a surprise to them when I arrived. I expected to be turned away but instead I was allowed in, thoroughly searched, briefed on who it was that I would be speaking with, advised against attempting conversation with anyone but that individual, searched again, and then led to the Chief Executive Officer of Valhalla's Board of Directors a Mr. Odin Thorson.**

**The interview I had with Mr. Thorson was not productive. He admitted that Dante had visited but went on to say that Dante was a White man of good Aryan stock. He went on to say that all rumors and statements to the contrary were false. Mr. Thorson offered the opinion that Dante had sacrificed himself for his country and his fellow Whites and that he had earned a hallowed place in Heaven. At that point, I concluded the interview and promised a finished copy of my work before being escorted out of his presence and towards the entrance to the property where I was searched a third time.**

**It was during that search that a man, White, tall with graying hair and blue eyes, slipped a folded piece of paper into my pocket and shoved me through the gate to my waiting car that featured a nice colorful slur scratched into the paint. I checked the piece of paper and read the note scrawled there. It was the location and time for a meeting. After checking the tires on my car, I left Valhalla and drove to the indicated destination where I waited at a small coffee shop. I was drinking my fourth cup of coffee when the man finally arrived.)**

I'm sorry for being late, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed. It wouldn't go well for me if they knew I was talking to you.

**I appreciate the effort and the risk sir. **

**(At the request of my interviewee, I have omitted the name of the town, location of the interview, and his name. I will refer to him simply as Mr. White.)**

You're looking into Dante? I'm sure whatever Odin said was complete bullshit. He's just like his old man. What would you like to know?

**Everything you want to tell me, Mr. White.**

Okay, well, then I hope you won't mind if I start with a little back story.

**Please.**

All right. Those in the inner circles call Valhalla "The New Final Solution". They probably wouldn't call it that if they knew where it really came from.

**Please elaborate?**

Everyone is under the impression that Odin's father Thor Derrickson is the originator of Valhalla. They believe that its conception and planning sprang from his mind while he was agonizing over what to do in a country that had become in his words, "a rotting cesspool of filthy vermin." The truth is that "Thor" was actually born Chester Remus to a psychiatrist father and a lawyer mother. Not the hardened country life that most of my neighbors revere. He spent a few summers on his aunt's farm, drove a pick-up, and listened to country music that's about it. His parents lived in the city. My guess is, he got his ass kicked by one too many of your people and decided to become a hatemonger. But, I'm ranting, the idea for Valhalla came not from the mind of an idiot who couldn't graduate high school, but from one of your people.

It was at a rally in Valley Forge Park. There was a paramedic there who liked sitting on the roof of his ambulance while members of the Klan and the Nation and whatnot stood up and gave their speeches. I guess he got off on the fact that the lives of a bunch of liquored up bigots were in his hands. One day, Thor, then Chester, got in his face and spouted a bunch of supremacist rhetoric that I'm sure he couldn't even spell. When he was done, the medic scratched his chin and started talking. Now, I wasn't there but this is from someone who was. The medic basically laid out the guidelines for creating a legally segregated society that the government would not only allow, but help pay for.

The story goes that Chester brought it up at a bar later on as a joke, but the people he told it to didn't think it was funny. A few months later a parcel of land was purchased and construction began. A year or two after that, the place had become a thriving community. Using money from mommy and daddy, Chester provided the final means of securing their stake and Valhalla was born. He provided the name for his haven from the mud people, appointed himself the head of the Board of Directors, and took on the name Thor. He said it was his middle name.

**Was it?**

Sort of. His middle name was actually Thornton.

At the outset of The Great Panic, a small fraction of the members of other supremacists groups came to Valhalla for refuge and they weren't the brightest ones of the bunch. After the government took off, a few more showed up but that was it for the most part. Thor wasn't smart. He was a blithering aggressive idiot, but he surrounded himself with smarter individuals. When it was clear that we were on our own, he started repeating things that had already been told to him. He set up agriculture. Someone with the right knowledge managed to dig a well. The fence that used to protect the place was reinforced with stones and clay.

**That must have taken forever.**

No, you misunderstand; Valhalla was much smaller back then. It wasn't even a square mile. It was even easy to defend since the land is backed by the mountains. There were only a few ways that someone could walk here, so seeing Zack was few and far between. Life was tough, but doable. Then the workers came.

**Workers?**

Your people, Latinos, a few Asians, some Middle East guys, that sort of thing. They eventually came knocking, looking for a safe place to stay. Most people didn't want anything to do with them. They finally had what they wanted, a place free of the inferior races, why invite them in? Let the scourge take them and be done with it. Thor vetoed the overwhelming decision to send men, women, and children to their deaths and, instead turned them into a labor force. I like to think that maybe he wasn't the heartless bastard that he made himself out to be. They worked the land and did the maintenance while we provided management and security.

**You mean they were slaves?**

Don't get riled up. None of them had to stay. They had a choice.

**Sure, either be slaves and subject to the whims of racists and bigots or face the swarms that roamed all over the middle of the state. Records indicate that some of the largest swarms in the US first congregated in PA coming down from New England and up from the mountains in West Virginia. That's some choice don't you think?**

I didn't say it was a good choice. I just said it was a choice. It's the truth. Isn't that what you're looking for? It wasn't like the past. There weren't any rapes or lynchings or beatings. People weren't whipped when they didn't produce as much as they could. Sure they endured a bit of verbal abuse every now and again, but all in all they made out on the deal. So a few of them had to work in the dirt, so what? Their families and their children were safe. That's all that mattered to them anyway.

Life for one of them was simple. Wake up in the morning around dawn and head out to do whatever their job was until sundown. They had plenty of time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We had church services on Sunday along with school for the children during the day.

**I can imagine the curriculum.**

Hey, again, it was their choice. Life at Valhalla was better than trying to make the trip west or freezing to death, starving in the north. It sure was good enough for Dante. When he came, things were going all right. He showed up in the early fall. He just walked right up to the gate one morning and knocked. A couple of the guards let him in. He didn't look the part of the vagabond refugee. He asked to see whoever was in charge. The first thing they did was try to take his weapons from him. I was told that he convinced them not to do that and just waited by the gate for Thor.

When Thor arrived, Dante asked for supplies. He was making his trip back to the Rockies; I think but would need some supplies to make it through some of the northern states. Thor probably took one look at his hammer and got the biggest hard-on imaginable. He offered Dante the supplies he needed but said that he would have to barter for them. Dante didn't carry much on him and everything he had was essential. Thor said that Dante could work off the value of the supplies. Dante agreed.

Thor added the provision that he would have to surrender his weapons. I was there for that. Dante handed over the hammer, shield, the machete, his trench spike and his survival knife. He kept his ruck and all of its contents after they were thoroughly searched, then he was placed in with the single male workers. Thor immediately laid claim to Dante's hammer, shield, and whatnot. He carried them around like trophies.

**Did Thor recognize Dante?**

Not at first. I knew, though. A year before I had gone to another settlement a bit south of us. There I heard stories about a guy wandering around lugging a big hammer. He was, supposedly, completely unafraid of Zack and had gone through Harrisburg without as much as a stubbed toe. I figured someone like that showing up at Valhalla was no coincidence. It had to be him. The only thing I wondered was just how long he would put up with the abuse.

**How long?**

Don't get hopeful and think that he didn't take any shit. Believe me, he took a lot. The single guys usually did. Dante spent the rest of the fall harvesting and doing menial jobs around our homes. All the while, Thor would make trips to wherever Dante was working and show him that he still had his hammer. Dante never let on that it bothered him at all. He just kept working. Then fall gave way to winter and Dante was stuck.

**How? He worked an entire season.**

Yeah, so what? Thor told him that it wasn't enough. Dante was forced to stay.

**What were the winters like?**

Winters were a rough time. Fires heated the homes like in the old days, but you really couldn't go out searching for firewood until the first big frost of the year. If you went around banging on trees even in late fall, you're going to attract some of those big swarms you were talking about. After the frost, Zack was usually frozen stiff and it got safer. Still we were careful. Groups would go out, six or seven workers and three or four overseers armed with hunting rifles. They'd go and cut down a few trees and then head back to do the rest of the work behind the walls.

Food was always in good supply though. Our harvests were plentiful. Of course, Whites got the first share and everything else was divided among the workers. Still, it was enough to keep bellies full and stave off hunger. We planted a few of the basics, corn, grain, wheat, and a few fruits and vegetables. People had enough. Then the fire happened.

**Fire?**

Inside one of the barns. It burned to the ground taking the White food supply with it. There was nothing anyone could do.

**What happened?**

What do you think? Thor ordered that the workers hand over half of their food to the Whites. They just went into their cabinets and pantries and took half their food. I don't have to tell you what happens when an entire populace is trying to live off of a quarter of its supplies. By Christmas there were people, White and otherwise, starving in Valhalla.

**What happened next?**

At first we hunted. We had plenty of good ole boys who knew how and the lack of a formal hunting season or federal regulations made game somewhat plentiful, at least during the winter.

**How did that work out?**

Yeah, never let anyone tell you that a redneck is a conservationist. Game got hard to find quick. And if any Zack came shambling through, forget it. The animals wouldn't get anywhere near them. Those that still hung around were quickly killed and consumed by both Zack and us. Not too long, the animals just left. After a month or two there weren't even signs that they were around anymore. We began scavenging the nearby towns for supplies after that.

**Was that dangerous?**

Of course. The mission of scavenging was primarily the job of the workers. It was the same ratio of workers to Whites. They'd travel to the towns and pick up whatever supplies we needed. There was plenty to be found since Zack doesn't eat anything canned. Still we had a lot of mouths to feed so we picked the closest towns clean by the end of January. By the beginning of March we had cleaned out just about every town around us. I mean picked clean. Then a funny thing happened.

**What?**

Well you know how global warming caused winters to be shorter and shorter? Not that year. I guess Mother Earth was trying to fix herself. It snowed the first two weeks of March. Don't get me wrong, that was good because the coming thaw meant we had to go out and look for any Zack that had frozen nearby and destroy them. With us being preoccupied with survival and all, that had gone by the wayside. In a normal season, that meant that we would be finding more thawed ghouls than ghouls on ice. Two extra weeks of winter meant we could still forage for food and ensure our safety for the spring and summer months. But then, two extra weeks of winter also meant that there were two less weeks of plowing, and planting and that the harvest would come two weeks late in the fall.

And that's if the winter extension only lasted for two weeks. It didn't. It lasted three and a half weeks. By that time we had exhausted every town within an easy day's walk of Valhalla. We had to go further for food. A group left on a Friday just before dawn on the twenty-fifth of March. It hadn't snowed in a couple of days and the weather was starting to show signs of turning. The mornings were still frigid though, so it was safe to travel as long as the weather held. We knew we were pushing it but even with the signs of thaw, it would be the better part of a month before any useable crops could be grown and consumed. The animals had not yet returned, they ultimately didn't by the way, and the food stores were nearing depletion. We would need a big score in order to last long enough to reap any kind of crops. This town was that score.

**The town we're in now?**

Yes. It had been evacuated during The Great Panic and again just before Regroup. Everything was as its inhabitants had left it. We weren't sure if it was still intact but it was the only shot we had. I can remember Thor giving these sweeping pep talks to the men assigned to oversee the workers before sending them out. People were hopeful.

**So what happened?**

The day wore on and the sun began to set. There was no sign of them. Sunset came and went with nothing. All day Saturday went by and into Saturday night without any indication that they were okay. The families of the men who had gone rallied around the town hall together, demanding to know what Thor was going to do about it. I could see that even Dante was intrigued. I saw him standing at the wall a few times looking out into the direction of this place. I had been watching him and could see that he was getting antsy. Before the scavenging trip, I had reasoned that he would want to leave, with or without his supplies. I also thought that he would manage either way. His foray into convenience had cost him two seasons of travel making the rest of his trip all the more difficult. I was wondering how he would get his weapons back.

Early on Sunday morning something happened that demanded and received one hundred percent of my attention. Two men from the scavenging party returned. They arrived in the early morning hours and were quickly taken to the hospital for examination and evaluation. The men, who had returned, one was Black and the other, White, were both in a bad way but, the White man Jacob, had been bitten. He was allowed to see his family to say good-bye before his brother blew his head off with a shotgun.

The next day there was much talk about what had happened. People were starting to get scared. There were fifteen men that went out looking for food and only two came back. Technically only one came back. What had they run into out there? Thor called a meeting of all the board members. I finagled my way into that meeting under the guise of security. Thor was the paranoid type and easily manipulated that way. I had him convinced that some of the workers might want to be in on the meeting and that he would need a group of men to keep control. He bought it.

The main concern was that there was no food. The expedition had not been successful and the coffers were getting lower and lower almost literally by the hour. This town was still the last great hope but who would attempt it? Even facing starvation, fear of Zack would inspire defiance among the workers. Being a survivalist I knew that Valhalla could be heading towards a massive uprising and utter destruction. I was weighing my options when Dante showed up.

It was like out of some movie. Did you see the town hall while you were there? No? The town hall has these large wooden double doors kind of like cathedral doors. I mean, the town hall was also the church so it was only fitting. Anyway, the doors just swing open and Dante comes walking in wearing that outfit of his. One of my guys moves to intercept him and ends up on his ass. Not hurt, just on his ass. Dante walks right up to Thor and stares him square in the eye. "We have a problem," he says.

Thor tries to play it off, but I can see he's intimidated. For a moment, I think he's going to shut down and start in with some supremacist rhetoric but instead God smiles on him and he asks to what it is that Dante is referring. Dante just simply says, "They were followed." There was the expected uproar from the others. "What did this nigger think he was talking about?" Who did the jungle bunny think he was?" "Why don't we just toss his Black ass outside?"

Then I spoke up. "What if he's right?" That got the desired result. The room got quiet. I took five guys and headed to the look-out point to check. That's a spot above Valhalla where the rock is bare and you can get a good view of our surroundings. What we saw made a few men of no faith into believers. We were back just after sundown and found most of Valhalla waiting for us. Before I even had a chance to speak, my men said it all by rushing to their families. Dante was right. Zack was coming.

I didn't go to Thor. I went looking for Dante. I found him inside the single men's quarters packing his ruck. He didn't turn to me. He knew I was there. He knew what I saw. I guessed the number of Zack at about three hundred. He knew what I was going to ask. He turned to me and held up a finger. I had no idea why he wanted me to wait but then I got my answer when Thor and the other members of the board suddenly crowded into the room with us.

I'm not sure what Thor wanted by making this huge declaration that we would go to war with the Gs that were coming. Maybe he wanted to impress Dante and erase the fear and intimidation he showed earlier. It didn't work. Dante laughed in his face. As I'm sure you know, Zack warfare is siege warfare. We'd get surrounded and they would stay there until either they got in, or they stopped hearing from us. Seeing as how we hardly had any food or ammunition and the next seasons were spring, summer, and fall, there'd be no way that we could survive that kind of assault.

Dante sat down on his rack and told Thor that he could stop the ghouls but he would need some men and provisions. In return, he wanted his promised supplies. Dante handed a list of things to Thor. He wanted one hundred men that were well fed and well armed. He wanted a week's worth of supplies, and all of his weapons back. I thought Thor was going to do something stupid. The look on his face was priceless. Then God stepped in again and Thor dropped the weapons at Dante's feet before stalking out of the room. Dante yelled a "thank you" after him and told the others that he and his men would leave in the morning.

**What happened after that?**

Thor got stupid again.

**(Mr. White looks around.)**

Look, you don't need me for the rest of this story. The last thing I have to say is that we watched them march off and thought to ourselves that they were never coming back. I fully anticipated having to deal with what was coming. There is someone who can complete this story. He was there with Dante. His name is Lawrence John Henry. You can find him here in town. Ask around.

**(He rises to leave.)**

**Wait, one more question. I am sure you will agree that Valhalla owes its existence, prosperity, and its salvation to the "inferior races". You also don't strike me as the "White Power, down-with-niggers, kill-the-Jews, type. You mock the founder of your town and society and even most of its ideals. Why did you throw in with them?**

I never claimed to be a supremacist. I am a survivalist. My goal back then is the same as it is now. I want to see tomorrow and will do whatever it takes to make that happen. It's the same with all people. Why do you think a racist moron like Chester "call me Thor" Remus gave up his prized trophies to someone he considered of a lesser species? He wanted to live. Those "slaves" were the same way. Do you think those people considered themselves slaves? Do you think they were abducted from the roads and forced to work the fields? No! They made a choice the same as I. They wanted to live and Valhalla was the only way. You'll learn better when you talk to L John.

**VI**

**(It doesn't take long to find Lawrence "L John" Henry. His name is plastered all over the front of an auto-body shop and gas station. Pulling in I find the owner working on an old pick-up truck. The setting is very Americana. I half expect to see a soda machine with an old-fashioned bottle-opener and a rusted open-air newspaper stand sitting next to a rocking chair. As I approach, he comes out from under the hood, stands straight, and I have a hard time believing that anyone would dare to disrespect this Black man. He is easily close to seven feet tall with the mass to match. Wiping the grease from his hands, he flashes me a grin, putting me at ease.)**

Our friend gave me a call and told me to expect you. I was just finishing my old truck. Can you believe she survived the war? Almost everything with wheels managed to get swiped except this baby. Granted she didn't look like she could roll back then. Wow, if you got a bit I think I can get that off your car. Anyway, come inside.

**(We walk around the side of the building where I find my soda machine, newspaper stand, and rocking chair. I chuckle a bit earning an inquiring frown from my host. After waving him off, he treats me to a soda from a traditional glass bottle and leads me inside a small house directly next to the station. We sit at the kitchen table where he offers a toast to my arrival and my cause before continuing.)**

How much of the story do you want?

**As much as you are willing to tell, and please be as factual as possible.**

Always, sir. What did you think of Valhalla? The place hasn't changed much since the war. The population has gotten a bit bigger, slightly better organized, but it's still run by a moron. Though, I don't think Odin would have had the sense to yield to Dante when the time came. He has his father's looks and his mother's brains. I'm sure you saw my service picture in the hall on the way in and the question has to be bouncing around inside that head of yours, "What would a decorated Marine Colonel possibly be doing working as a slave inside a White Supremacist camp?"

**The thought **_**did**_** cross my mind, sir.**

Extenuating circumstances is one reason but my main reason was the same as all the others. I needed to survive. Valhalla was the best place to do that back then. The swarms across the middle of the state were too dense to navigate for me, for anyone really. During the pull-back, or "Regroup" as the government likes to call it now, they failed to destroy the highways leading up into the mountains so the undead had an easy walk from Philly to Pittsburgh. You couldn't escape them or evade them. After much hemming, hawing, and gnashing of teeth, I made my decision.

**How were you treated?**

As well as could be expected, I guess. I managed to do most of my work for a toothless Marine Corps dropout who just loved making me call him "sir". He'd even make me salute him whenever he walked by. His favorite thing was to give me impossible tasks and then shout "A true Marine would find a way!" It was worth it, though. All things being equal, I managed all right.

**What happened when Dante arrived?**

At first we didn't know what to make of him. A few of the crackerjacks knew who he was and rode him all the harder because of it. He took it in stride though. In the end, I think he was using them as much as they were using him. Considering how he was when the time came, I'd bet he could have walked away from Valhalla and made it back to The Wall just fine.

Around us he was personable. He had a great sense of humor and always had a smile or a quick joke that would lighten up any situation. He never went out on any of the foraging missions though. I thought that was weird. I mean a few of them he was purposely not picked to go. My guess was because either the crackerjacks didn't want to get shown up or they thought that if he got his supplies, he'd just leave.

**Did he ever mention what it was he was looking for?**

Not once. And, believe me, more than a few of us asked. I assumed it was family, but I could have been wrong. He did tell me that he had been up and down the eastern seaboard twice since the pull-back so he must have been looking for a long time. He still had hope though. It was a rare thing to have back then.

**Tell me about the foraging missions?**

Well, they were always desperate. The crackerjacks would have the guns. More guns than they should have had for the missions but my leadership skills and know-how wasn't required or desired. They gave us hand weapons; crowbars, bats, axe-handles, and spears. Yeah, I said "spears". One of them actually could work metal and made spears for us. Originally he thought it was a joke. When we needed to go scavenging, it ceased to be funny because he made a bunch of functional ones to hand out. When we questioned why we were getting spears they just looked at us like, "What, I thought you all knew how to use these?" We didn't have any idea how to use those things. We learned pretty damned quick, though. G come out of a closet or storefront at you, you pick up on the skills or end up dead or worse. The guys they took on that last scavenging trip were some of the best with spears.

After that trip, things around the Quarter, that's what we called our section of the White man's paradise, got quiet. Everybody had gathered around the family members of those that didn't come back. I was at the edge of the Quarter watching the crackerjacks and seeing what they were doing. DeShawn, the Brother that had come back, had told us what had happened and what he saw. It was bad. The Whites weren't gearing up for anything though. They looked just as scared as we were. Then Dante came out of the shadows and walked right over to me. "I need you," he said.

**Why?**

He told me what he knew and what he had told Thor. At first I thought he was nuts. I mean, who wants to go to battle against a horde of Zack? Didn't he see what had happened at Yonkers? Didn't he see the end result of standing up against an enemy you can't scare into submission? I looked into his eyes and saw the calm determination that I had come to know during my years in the Corps. Then he said something and I knew we were going to be okay.

**What did he say?**

He said, "I don't know how to lead men in battle. I need you to help me." It sounds self-centered but the fact that he asked _me_ isn't the point. The point is that he asked. He knew his limitations. He had never led people in open warfare before.

**Dante was on Key West during his first trek. He retook the entire island with the help of the people there.**

I heard about that after the fact. That's not open warfare, son, that's urban warfare. It's a completely different animal. Plus, the people he helped there were already veterans of undead combat. They had their own security set up. He just joined in. And, most of that was going house to house taking out whatever zombies they found.

We're talking about taking on a horde on open terrain with a group of people that were desperate enough to become slaves to _avoid_ combat. That's something for your ass right there. There was the experience from the foraging trips, but the best of us had already fallen and were shuffling their way towards us. No, Dante was out of his league and he knew it. He knew about my military experience and asked for my help. I said, "Yes", almost immediately.

Everything moved pretty quickly after that. First we went around picking people that I knew would be best for the mission ahead. We selected one hundred people that had experience with fighting Zack and did not have families. That was Dante's thing. He didn't want anyone with wives, husbands, or children. Among them were a few people with military and law enforcement experience. They would be the leadership chain that would provide the direction we would need. In less than three hours we had assembled a decent fighting force. Five minutes later, it was disbanded.

**What happened?**

Thor happened. He got stupid. He had already assembled the fighting force that was to be the last hope for Valhalla. Problem one, there were only fifty of them, problem two, they all had families. He had gathered a ragtag group of men at the gate and given them the provisions and weapons. Oh, the "weapons" were the crowbars, axe handles, bats, and spears and he had provided only three days of supplies.

He said he did it because men with families fought harder. I knew he did it because he didn't want the fighting force to just make a run for it the instant they were on the other side of the walls. The group we had carefully selected was sent back to the Quarter. The group he had chosen was shown the door with us. The bastard even had the gall to wish us good luck.

We marched until sundown and then took shelter inside a cave on the south face of this small mountain. Fifty men, terrified out of their minds, clutching their weapons as if hanging onto their sanity, huddled around in the pitch-black while Dante and I whispered plans in the moonlight outside. He had some good ideas. One of them was to find the zombies and then divide them up so that we could face them in more manageable numbers. He also had an idea of leading them away from Valhalla to a nearby gorge and letting them fall in. There was like a box canyon that opened to the north above the snowline. By the time they managed to shuffle out, it would be winter and they would freeze. There were problems with his strategies though that made them impossible.

**Like?**

Well the divide and conquer plan was good except we didn't have enough people and enough experience to make it work. Also there was a chance that there were other pockets of Zack roaming around that we didn't know about. Either of the teams could find themselves surrounded. The gorge idea was his best but we didn't have the supplies to make the trip even if we rationed them out. Maybe a few people would have made it but the rest of us would have starved, plus there's no guarantee that all of the undead would follow.

What we decided upon was a head-on attack. The next morning we found the perfect place to fight. See, that was the thing back in the days of swords and axes. Where the battle happened was just as important as how you fought. It still is in a lot of cases. There was a narrow draw bordered by rocky outcroppings that were pretty steep. They were a bitch to climb even if you weren't undead. At the end of the draw, it was almost sheer and impossible for any G to climb. However, we could manage the sides just before. The top of the draw was flat. We could base there and move down into the draw to fight. All we had to do was lure our enemy onto the battlefield and then have it out.

**What was the plan for dealing with the lack of experience?**

Well that was a bit dicey. There was nothing we could do about the lack of experience. I had a few ideas but Dante had the plan and I'm glad we went with his. He said he got the idea from priests in Louisiana. Can you believe that? Priests? He said that all of the bashing weapons would lead with the spears backing them up. He split the group into three ranks of seventeen. The first rank would try and crush the skulls right off but if they couldn't they'd knock the zombies to the ground. The second rank, armed with spears, would step forward and skewer the heads of the downed zombies. Once the enemy line was defeated we'd move forward. The third rank armed with a mixture would sweep up the rest of the trash and help remove any wounded.

With the battle plan in place the next thing we did was invite the enemy. We assembled a small team of men to go towards the horde and make enough noise to get their attention. You can guess how many guys we had eager to jump onto that bandwagon. I led that mission. It wasn't strategically or physically difficult; all you had to do was walk like you had somewhere to go and make sure you didn't end up surrounded and you'd be fine.

About six of us went leaving Dante to get the rest organized. As we moved I gave instruction on the best way to travel through the bush while making as little noise as possible. To a bunch of seasoned Marines, we probably sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding through a nitroglycerin plant, but we were a small herd of elephants stampeding through a nitroglycerin plant. We managed to get Zack's attention and got the whole group howling after us. I shouldn't have to tell you that's a chilling feeling.

Anyway, by the time we reached the draw, Zack was right behind us and coming as fast as they could. Dante had the group organized into their proper ranks and they were already formed up. We just took our places and waited. That was another experience I don't ever want to have to live through again. The first of them shambled into view and almost looked like an army themselves. I was standing next to Dante armed with a crowbar and a decent sized knife as a back-up.

I can remember that I was constantly steeling myself as they came at us. I see them sometimes, in my nightmares; that longing look in their dead eyes. It was horrible; just this need to eat our flesh and tear the life from our bodies. The wind changed direction and we could smell them. It's an awful stench that just seems to wash over you. You smell it with every breath and can even taste it in your mouth.

Then, when they were fifty feet away, Dante steps out in front of us and turns his back to them. We're all trying not to piss our pants and he just turns away from them like they're not even there. He gives us this look. It said everything we needed to hear. It said, "There is no fucking way on this Earth or any other that those bastards were going to get past us to our families. We are going to kill them, all of them." It was like that movie where the guy says "This is where we fight! This is where they die!" Well die again I suppose.

Then Dante put up his mask and spoke. "Watch your feet and stay together," he said. That was it, just that, nothing else. Then he turned around and faced our enemy. You would've thought he had just given the "I Have a Dream" speech or the victory speech once the flag got raised over Iwo Jima. Our side let loose this battle-cry that would strike fear into anybody. This roar came out of my chest that I didn't think I was capable of. Those fuckers were going down and, this time, staying down. When Dante started walking, so did we. We marched towards them, closing the distance. They weren't coming to us, we were going to them. That line from the movie kept running through my mind. "This is where we fight! This is where they die!"

When we met, I swung for the fences and dropped one on the first swing. The next swing put my target down and my buddy behind me finished it off. I glanced at Dante and he had a growing pile of them gathered at his feet and they were down for the count. His battle buddy was standing idle behind him waiting for his chance and I could see he was anxious to get some black on his spear. He didn't have to wait long. Dante sent two back his way and he leaned into the fuckers one right after the other.

There was a lot of screaming that fight. A lot of fears were being faced on our side. We struck, speared, and advanced our way across the battlefield making slow, but steady progress. Our army thought as one, sometimes struck as one, and always moved as one. The Gs didn't stand a chance.

I can remember as we were finishing the first day of fighting, Dante bashed one of the things with that shield he had. I hooked it with the end of my crowbar and swung it around behind me so that my battle buddy could spear it. I turned back and shoved one of the ends of the crowbar into the chest of the next one and then ducked. I'm not sure why to this day, but it was a good thing because Dante's hammer came swinging over my head and caved the fucker's face in. The last of them went to lunge but Dante kicked it down. He walked around it, twirling his hammer. I watched as he brought it up and crushed its skull driving its brains into the dirt.

I can't tell you how good it felt. We looked around at the sea of corpses and felt such a surge of pride and accomplishment. For a group of men that had been reduced to slave labor it was awesome. Dante gave the order to clear the area and we immediately set to work. We knew more ghouls were coming and you'd be surprised how fast the fuckers could move if you weren't paying attention. I didn't know it at the start of the battle, but Dante had put his group to work digging a long trench that was for the bodies. They had dug it up out of the way of the battlefield but not too close to where we were camped. In less than an hour, every former undead corpse was tossed into the pit and then the whole pile was set ablaze.

Watching them burn, we saw the last of our fears burn away. We had killed about two hundred of our enemy in one day's battle and had not lost a single man in the process. I can remember giving out fist bumps and slaps on the back. We were the lords of all creation. Then looking through the flames, I saw Dante looking down into the draw. I walked over and saw what he was looking at. Some of that pride and courage I had been feeling earlier was wiped away. In the draw was the same number of ghouls we had killed and then some. Our friend's estimates had been wrong. We were facing closer to five hundred Zack easy. Among them I saw a few of our friends wandering around, soulless and howling for our blood. Dante gave me a look and I snapped back to reality. The battle wasn't over yet. Tomorrow there'd be so much more to do. I went back to camp and rallied everyone up. I told them what was waiting for us and to clean their weapons. I was afraid that their spirits would be broken. I was pleased to find that ours was still a hardened people. They did as they were told and went about getting rest.

**What about Dante?**

He eventually came back to camp and went to sleep. I don't know how he did it. Among the provisions, no one packed earplugs. The moans coming from below kept me up until well after midnight. I guess he had more practice sleeping with those things baying for him than we did. We had a guard on rotation up during the night making sure none of those things managed to make it up the rocks.

**What happened the next day?**

The next day we sent the third rank down the sides of the draw to lure the ghouls away from the base of the box so we could get down. Those things were so stupid they fell for it. By the time they realized what was going on, the first two ranks were already down and formed up. We slammed into their flank. We were merciless and brutal, even to the ones we knew. The battle before had taken its toll though. First rank was knocking down more Zack than we were putting down. Even Dante's arm seemed a little tired. I guess the seasons out of practice had made him rusty. Second rank was doing its thing though. They were spearing those undead bastards almost as soon as their rotting backs hit the dirt. Third rank was batting clean-up and getting some work as well. A few Zack managed to leech their way around the sides of the formation. We fought like bastards that day, but we couldn't gain more than maybe fifty feet.

The horde was just too thick and you'd get these surges. It was like a domino effect. One G would trip or something and fall into another and so on and so forth until you got this massive shove from the ones up front. It was the damndest thing to get your weapon right to push back without getting your hands chomped on. Yeah, the second day was a long one. We couldn't even clear the field. We'd managed to take out about one hundred or so, but we'd lost four guys in the process. Two had fallen on the field and had been eaten right there. One took a bite on the shoulder; the other had his arm pulled from the socket. He wasn't infected or anything, but he definitely wasn't fighting anymore. We retreated at the end. Give that round to Zack.

**What happened to the man with the bite wound?**

I hope Thor is rotting in Hell for making us head out with no guns. It would have been more humane to drop him with a bullet. Instead, Dante put him down with the axe end of his hammer. The guy, George, his name was, said a quick prayer, made us promise to give messages of love to his wife and kids, and then he went with Dante. I think that was the only time I was glad that the moans of the zombies were so loud. We didn't have to hear the hammer fall. There wasn't any celebration that night. The battle had gone from horrible to mythical to real and we had more to deal with. I remember shoving chewed up leaves into my ears and passing out.

**The third day?**

We got up at dawn. Third rank was down two guys but they made the trip down the sides of the draw anyway. Our enemy's numbers had dwindled but they still had the advantage. We were outnumbered two to one and we were tired. Everyone was slow to rise but leave it to Dante to find the right words to give people fire. "One more time," he said. He didn't shout it or give the words bass. He said it as I am saying it to you, "One more time." We marched down into that draw and we weren't coming back until every last one of those freaks of nature was a smear on the ground.

The battle went well at first. Well it went well for the most part. We kept our ranks tight and moved as a unit, something that was a bit lacking the day before. After a while, we hit our stride and the corpses began piling up. Even as the day warmed we could see the last of them and could taste the victory.

**What went wrong?**

Ever seen a child zombie? The problem with them is they're smaller than the adults but no less dangerous. In fact, they're more dangerous because of their size and the fact that the sight of a child, even an undead one, stirs something in most good people. They hesitate. When you're fighting Zack, toe-to-toe, you can't hesitate, ever. When the time comes to take your shot, you take it. Any seasoned warrior would tell you that. The problem is, even with two days of battle under their belts, those men were not "seasoned". So when that little girl came out of the horde, looking almost like she was still alive, Joe hesitated. In that moment, he was grabbed by three grown Zack and hauled to the ground.

When that happened, the front line bowed and shattered. Zack began spilling back behind us to the second line. Spears can be good for taking down Zack if you know what you're doing. If not, that moving target that is their head can be damned hard to hit. The second line held for about a minute before the first man went down. Then it broke. From there, things got chaotic.

I stayed by Dante with about four others. Suddenly our combat load increased by five a man. Dante began knocking down Zack left and right and our battle buddies quickly took to spearing them dead. Then my back-up, a guy named Smith, went down with one chewing through his calf. I picked up his spear and backed up Dante.

We held up our end. A formation took up around us and we began marching forward again. I remember dropping back to the second rank and spiking any still-snapping G that hit the dirt. Just as we were breaking through, Dante swung his hammer to the right and caved in the head of a G that was almost outside of his range. He was overextended and looked to get pounced on by the one behind it. I stepped forward and took it right under the nose. It dropped and I saw nothing behind it.

**You had killed them all?**

_We_ had killed them all. There wasn't even the odd straggler that arrived late to the party. I looked around and saw the others. Our army had splintered and fractured a bit but they had somehow held their own. They were putting down the last of the enemy and even a few of our own that had fallen and gotten back up. Another group was walking around using their spears to sift through bodies looking for disabled zombies among the destroyed ones.

It was a strange moment. I can remember elation, relief, and yet I found myself fighting back tears. Dante was looking around and I think he was feeling the same way. He dropped his mask and pulled back his hood. He looked me in the eye and nodded. He didn't say anything. He just nodded. I nodded back and went about rallying the men to clean up the battlefield and get an account of our fallen.

**How many died that day?**

Sixteen men lost their lives in the final day of fighting. Maybe that is what I was so grieved about. I knew we had won and it was a tremendous victory. Fifty men took on over five hundred Zack with nothing but spears and clubs. Fifty men, the majority of which lacked anything resembling combat experience, stood full of fear against an enemy that is truly fearless. When the line crumbled, they did not break. They found a strength that awes me to this day.

**(He pauses and I can see tears in the corners of his eyes.)**

None of those men had to be there. They weren't the ones that chose to go.

**(He takes a drink of soda to avoid breaking down, but it still takes him a minute to collect himself.)**

It took another day or so to clear the battlefield and we had a sort of service for the men we lost. Then we marched back. It was silent and not just for safety. There was nothing to say. I don't think anyone wanted to do anything other than get back to their families.

**What happened when you returned to Valhalla?**

I've come home from a few campaigns that saw action and coming home was always a joyous event. Up until that day, I never thought about the families that weren't attending the event because their loved ones had already come home in boxes. When we came back, the entire Quarter had come out to greet us.

I don't remember the cheers so much as the faces of the wives that had lost their husbands and the children that would never see their fathers again. I don't remember the happiness, the displays of affection, and the slaps on the back from everyone, even the crackerjacks. I remember the wailing of the bereaved and hope fading from the faces of people anxiously waiting for something that was not coming.

**What happened after that?**

Thor came down to the gate with the rest of the leadership. He looked around and I could tell he was shocked that we had returned and with news that the threat had been eradicated. He was speechless. Dante walked up to him, his suit still bearing the stains of battle. The crackerjacks flanking Thor took a step back. Everyone around them got quiet.

**What did Dante say?**

Nothing, it was Thor that did the talking. He said, "I'll give you what you need. You'll have it before the end of the day." And then he said something that none of us had ever heard before. He said, "Thank you." After that, he turned tail and headed back to the town hall.

**Did he keep his word?**

Yes. Dante had all the supplies he had originally asked for and more. He didn't leave that night though. He stayed until morning. The Quarter celebrated the victory and the return of those that had fought. I stayed with the relatives of the deceased and grieved with them. Dante was at neither place. He was asleep in the single men's quarters. Dawn, the next day, he was gone. I wasn't there to see him go. None of us were. Some of the Brothers responsible for assisting the wall security said that he showed up just after sunrise, sent them a wave and a raised fist, and headed off into the wilderness.

**What was his effect on the worker population?**

I guess he caused some apathy to be shaken off. A few of the single guys and girls decided to try to strike out west after the first frost. Dante had drawn a map of where the safe zones were before you got to the Rockies. I'm not sure of the ratio, but I know of one fellow, Stephen and his now wife Clara that made it all the way to Boulder, Colorado. They still live there.

**One more question, and I thank you for your time, why did **_**you**_** stay?**

**(He reaches into his coveralls and pulls a faded picture from a pocket. He sets it down on the table between us. The picture is of a girl of about three standing in a field of corn, holding a basket, and smiling. Her facial features are Anglo, but the color of her skin and the texture of her hair scream of African heritage.)**

Those extenuating circumstances I told you about? This is it here. Her name is Kayla. She was just a toddler during The Great Panic. I married her mother two years before the first outbreaks in China. The choice to go to Valhalla was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. My wife and Kayla went on ahead of me by about a week. She got in saying that the father of her baby was killed in the trip. They took her in. She told me that she was shunned a bit at first, but then they warmed to her and Kayla and she was, eventually, treated as an equal. Kayla got some flak from the children but that was to be expected. We were there a good long while before Reclamation reached us. I had to watch my daughter be taught that her father was somehow beneath her and that half of what made her was wrong, but she was safe. When the world falls apart, all a father can do is keep his children safe and try to do something to make sure that there's at least part of the world for them to inherit. I think I did that.

I tried my best to be a constant presence in her life but also stay far enough away that none of the crackerjacks would catch on. If they found out that Kayla was mine, we could have been thrown out or she would have been made to live like the rest of us.

**But, what about this picture?**

That was her coming down to the fields to help. Even as a child she knew her blood. She got poked fun at for doing it but it never stopped her. I was so proud of her then. I still am. She works for the current Executive Administration investigating human rights issues all over the world. I think she's in Laos until next month when she'll come home.

**That'll be nice; you and the wife must not see her that much anymore.**

Actually, Kayla hasn't talked to her mother since just after she graduated high school. The war stole a great many things from us. It was always my biggest fear that the supremacist rhetoric would influence Kayla while she was living among those bigots. What I did not expect was for her mother to be influenced. When Reclamation came and the area was pacified, I went to her to leave Valhalla and come home. She refused. She told me that she wanted to be around her own kind where it was safe. She even invited me to stay with her as a servant. Needless to say I was shocked. Still, not as shocked as she was when Kayla decided to come with me.

**What did she do?**

At first, she didn't do anything. Then, about the time Kayla went into high school, she came around. I guess her motherly instinct took over. I convinced Kayla to talk with her and she did, but it didn't take. The last message between the two was a phone call where her mother congratulated her on her graduating _cum laude_. Kayla thanked her mother, calling her by her first name and told her to go to hell.


	7. Chapter VII

**Chapter VII**

**ARO "D" SNV**

**(My interview with Adrian Cortez continues at his home atop a mesa about five miles from his place of employ. Mr. Cortez' home is a trailer that is sparsely furnished. A set of patio furniture that is faded and looks as if it was fished from the garbage is set up outside with a small cooler that is leaking water nearby. Getting to the top of the mesa was not easy for my Jeep but after looking at the view, I can tell that inaccessibility is somewhat the point. Mr. Cortez pulls up a rickety chair and delves into the cooler, fishing out two ice-cold beers. He tosses me one and invites me to sit.)**

I tell you Dante was probably the best ARO we had and the crown jewel of my FARC career. Then it went completely to shit.

**What happened?**

Well the wheels at the federal level had been turning since he had come back from our fact-finding mission. Commanders were harrumphing and haranguing about providing support for the troops beyond The Wall. A series of reports were drafted and plans were drawn up for the President's approval. It was all hush-hush at first. There were whispers that something big was being cooked up. Then the word comes down that ARO-D is back across The Wall and that he needs to be immediately collected and briefed on his next mission. Then I got told what that mission was so I could brief him.

**What was the mission?**

Do you remember the refuel/repair stations for aircraft that were set up during the war? Well we didn't just come up with the idea for those overnight. That was a process that took the better part of a year to plan, test, and enact. What we were going to do was begin the final testing phase. It was also the most dangerous.

The refuel/repair stations needed to be set up. We couldn't just use existing areas already under military control. There were many reasons but the primary motivation was that most if not all had a civilian population. The increased activity would be detrimental to them if the mission should succeed and if the mission failed, then we could potentially suffer significant casualties unnecessarily.

**The potential for evacuation?**

Wasn't there yet, my friend. We had just gotten an air fleet somewhat up and ready and were amassing pilots to operate the equipment. Things were still in their infancy. Giving a populace false hope of rescue or evacuation could have created more problems than it would have helped. Besides, evacuation would have gone against the Redeker Plan. A special unit had been formed and trained to carry out the mission, but when Dante became available, the brass wanted him in on it. It was a daring undertaking. What we were going to try had been argued and debated long before anything had been done. Some hail it as the first step towards Reclamation.

**What was the plan?**

Use existing aircraft to insert a unit of troops and equipment and have them establish and secure a perimeter for a set amount of time using what was then, updated weapons and equipment better suited for war with the undead. It was the final step before actual operations would be undertaken to begin supplying our outlying areas and those civilian populations that had managed to maintain their integrity.

**What went wrong?**

I cannot give you that answer and not because of any kind of bullshit government secrecy pact. I can't tell you because I honestly don't know. My end result was that I was told the mission had been completed, that there were complications and that ARO-D was SNV, Strategically Non-Valid. It's a cute way of saying "dead". I'll tell you where you may be able to find your answers. You ever been to Maine?

**VII**

**(At the behest of Mr. Cortez I have come to the town of Bastion Maine to find my next subject. Nestled in a small valley surrounded on three sides by high mountain peaks, the town has gone from its former standard architecture to the elevated communities of the post-war era. The architecture of the past was kept alive; however, just placed on stilts. As I enter the town square I find their memorial dedicated to the war. It is a wall made of granite and marble decorated with golden borders and featuring an eternal flame in the center. Engraved in the walls are the names of the town's residents who lost their lives or served their town and/or country with distinction and honor. Though the town is small the list is long, almost five hundred names. I go to turn when a moniker missing a surname catches my eye. Etched for all eternity is the name "Dante".)**

That's right, his name is there too.

**(I turn and greet my subject. David Chon-Tsu, a former Army Ranger, is tall for an Asian man, over six feet. His head is shaved but due for another trim as I can see flecks of gray starting to sprout. His beard is also flecked with gray. A large scar streaks across his chin. He is dressed in simple clothes and wearing a long trench coat. The early spring air here is crisp and cool. He gestures to a café nearby and we adjourn there to talk.)**

He passed through this way just before coming back and hooking up with us. He told me about it when we served together. I think that's an appropriate term. Yeah, we served together.

**I wasn't able to find a record of this place. Did anything happen here?**

Only the usual stories. Dante arrived, killed a bunch of Zack, made a bunch of friends, and then wandered off into the proverbial sunset. After the war, they put the names up and his name went right up there with the rest. Don't misunderstand me, he deserves it. I think his name is only on about twelve or so of this nation's monuments not including the big one in DC. I think what the government's doing, not acknowledging everything he did for them, is complete shit.

**I spoke with Adrian Cortez and he sent me to you to talk about your mission.**

Yeah, he called me.

**(We sit at a table and Mr. Chon-Tsu orders us some coffee and cups of soup.)**

We started training long before Dante got back from his trip out. Wait let me start from the beginning. I was part of an ARU that's an Advance Recon Unit. We had maybe twelve of them back then divided up amongst the services. Each unit was comprised of our Special Forces. Rangers, Force Recon, Combat Control/Combat Rescue, and SEALs were the common make-up. The first units were cobbled together from leftover members of the Alpha Teams. Our original commander was an Alpha-Team soldier. The rest were put together by the remnants. We were lean, mean, trained, and tough. We had done missions up and down the unfriendly sides of The Wall and been out as far as twenty miles in all directions, but that was nothing compared to what we were being tasked to do.

The unit selected for what was dubbed "Operation: Extended Reach" was put together from all the branches of service. The brass wanted this to be a completely joint operation. You know how we servicemen like to brag. I mean, take a look at the Marines and the Lobo. They'll never let the rest of the services live that one down.

Four squads of fifteen men from every branch of service were culled together and dumped deep into the mountains for some of the most rigorous training imaginable. Every one of us did a solo stint and a group stint at Willow Creek. Then, when we were finished, we did it all again. They wanted this mission to succeed and they tried to do everything in their power to make sure it did.

We had specialized equipment. It was the first equipment designed specifically for combat with the undead. First was the armor. We had the second generation of the stuff. It wasn't as hodgepodge thrown-together as the first-gen stuff but it did the job. The stuff was black Kevlar vests with raised neck protection, shoulder, and forearm protection. The vest and arm protection was connected with this Kevlar mesh that made it easier to move around and was supposed to be bite-proof.

**Was it?**

Well _I_ couldn't bite through it but no human has the tenacity of any G. Still it seemed to do the trick. The leg armor was similar in fabrication but protected the quads, knees, and shins. Our boots had been replaced with USAR boots if you can believe it. Those boots had steel protection from the shins down. There wasn't a Zack undead that could bite through those. They took some getting used to, but they more than did the job. Our helmets went bye-bye. No need for 'em at all. We were allowed to wear boonies or bandanas. They preferred bandanas but no trailing tails. Our BDUs changed to green flight suits to make our armor fit and wear better. It was convenient. Under the suit you could wear anything depending on the temperature. There were some hotter days when this commando went commando.

We also added armored gloves to the uniform instead of leather fingerless. It could get hot but the consensus was the same as with any biker; sweat or bleed. We must have looked like soldiers from one of those cheesy sci-fi movies that used to be popular before the war, but it was the best we had back then. Speaking of that our weapons had been taken and modified. Our carbines with the collapsible stocks were gone.

**Strategically invalid?**

What good is a weapon against a G when you can't use it as a bludgeon? Nope, the SIR wasn't a reality yet so they took M-16s and reinforced the composite stock with metal plates. It wasn't much better, you'd get another three our four swings out of it before it would fail, but it fit the bill since most of our missions required as little combat as possible. Also, the automatic and burst settings were taken out of the equation. The rifle was pure semi-auto. It had two settings, "safe" and "destroy". Our combat loads got a little heavier too. We went from the stubby 15-round magazines and banana-style 30 clips to one hundred-round drums. Each man carried five of them plus one locked and cocked. It seemed like over-kill at first but the brass learned from the failures at Yonkers and other places around the world. Beyond the Wall, if you run out of ammo, you're fucked.

**What was the mission?**

The mission was to move to an advanced position. Clear it, secure it, prep it for operations, and hold it for a period of thirty days. While we were training, recon was performed on several spots about a hundred miles out. The spot they chose was supposed to be the best due to pre-war population density, average amount of Zack, and terrain. I always thought that they picked our spot solely because it was the best spot for the pop-ups.

**Pop-ups?**

Oh, those things were the latest and greatest from R&D. They were the walls of our portable fortress. When put together and combined, they would form a structure capable of repelling the undead. They were ten yards by fifteen yards and made of aluminum. You braced the outer edge and then pushed on the inner portion. The two sides moved up on a hinge and formed a right triangle. The slope faced in and the wall faced out. The inside of the pop-ups was hollow and there were doors so you could hide inside of it if you needed to. They connected with a simple bolt mechanism and, as long as you used right angles, you could modify the structure to fit the terrain. We had a good time doing that during training.

**How long did it take to set up a structure?**

It depends on the size and the terrain. The idea was to set up a base to fight from first and then build up as needed. We could set up a fifty square yard structure on sloping terrain in less than an hour.

**How did the pop-ups get to the site?**

Usually by air drop. The pop-ups and supplies get dropped just ahead of you so it's already there for you to use. Everything about the mission had been debated, pre-planned, planned, reviewed, and then planned again. I'm sure FARC did the same thing when they recruited all of us. Every one of us was the most experienced in our units.

**That's why they recruited Dante?**

Oh yeah. Who better to lead a group of rough and tough ARCs, oh the "C" stands for Commando, than the best ARO period? No matter how badass we thought we were, we knew we were a distant second to that man. Even those of us who spent time on the Alpha Teams knew that our kill numbers were nothing compared to his. Our time spent out was nothing compared to his, and our distances were nothing compared to his. You know every time I walk past one of those murals depicting the sunrise over New York on V-A Day I think, "Dante must have stood on the exact same spot dozens of times". Yeah, but he would have had a pile of Zack crowded around his feet and their black blood dripping from his hammer. We knew full well that he made all of us look like rank amateurs. That's why none of us were offended when he was selected to lead us.

**Lead? How did they know about his success at Valhalla?**

Where? Oh yeah, the Nazi place. He told us the story. What's so special about that?

**It was the first time he had ever led an "army" in open combat.**

Really? I didn't know that. I thought that he spent his time leading recon missions. Go figure. I mean to say you couldn't tell. He knew what he was doing.

**When did he join your unit?**

We had all assembled at a reception point on The Wall in Colorado and then this FARC guy brings Dante in. He looked like he had just got back from the field. He was filthy with about five days of facial hair. The FARC guy nodded and we snapped to attention. Dante walked up and down the ranks inspecting us. He didn't say anything. There was a table of equipment and he went to inspect that. He picked up our armor and looked it over and then he went to the weapons. I had heard stories that he couldn't shoot so I watched him as he picked up one of the rifles. He didn't sight down it or anything; he just hefted it and felt the weight and balance. He looked at the FARC guy, said, "Bayonets" and that was it. He turned and walked away nodding his head. The FARC guy turned to us and said, "You deploy at the end of the week." The next day we had these spike-like bayonets added to our gear. We didn't see Dante again until the day we left.

**What was he doing?**

He had been out for God-Knows-how-long. Our regulations stipulated that you had two weeks of rear duty for every week out so I would guess that he was recharging his batteries somewhere while FARC and our command brought him up to speed. He also needed to brief them on the area we would be using since he was the last person to walk through there. We cooled our heels and those of us that had them, spent time with friends and loved ones.

The night we deployed the sky was black and pouring rain. We formed up next to the Chinook that was going to fly us out. Dante arrived with the FARC guy and looked completely different. He was clean and even looked rested somewhat. We were in full gear and armed to the teeth. He gave us another inspection and then pointed towards the bird. We packed in and dusted off.

The flight out was quiet at first. We all kind of looked at each other and looked at Dante. He was sitting in a corner of the hold with his hammer across his knees. His hood was up so we couldn't see his face. He wasn't talking or anything but we all had questions on the tips of our tongues. I wanted to hold his hammer. I had heard it had a twenty-pound head. About halfway to our destination he woke up.

He stood up, a bit wobbly, but that's to be expected when flying in a dilapidated chopper running on less-than-optimal fuel. He stretched for a while, hefting his hammer and swinging it around and then he walked forward to where there was a table set up. Forward of that was all the equipment we would need to last the month. Dante laid his hammer on the table and called up the squad leaders.

**You weren't a squad leader then? Records show that you led an ARC platoon during Stalemate.**

You did your homework. Yeah, well it was this mission that got me promoted. Our squad leader was a Marine Gunnery Sergeant named Dwayne Hicks. Can you believe that? We all liked to ask him how Ripley was doing. Anyway he had done what we considered serious time behind enemy lines. His last tour was the better part of a month fighting through six attacks and logging more than thirty confirmed kills to set up a radio tower that allowed us to talk to seven outposts that, before, we couldn't send smoke signals to. This guy was badass.

Him and the other three squad leaders, an Army Master Sergeant named Briscoe, a Navy Master Chief named Cruz, and an Air Force Lieutenant named Laney, gathered around the table and the maps came out. The rest of us did equipment checks. They talked for about ten minutes and then Dante walked to his spot, sat down, and went back to sleep.

An hour and a half later, the yellow light came on signaling us to prep for deployment. We went to the rear doors, securing our harnesses. We weren't going to jump in. It was too dangerous. No, we repelled in. I can remember the back door yawning open and seeing the night sky and a bright half-moon. Below us was this large open area. During conventional warfare you'd slide down into some trees or something, but since Zack doesn't show up clear on infrared, we dropped into areas where we could see.

We also deployed in as few waves as possible. Zack responds to noise in general. The sound of a Chinook whipping up rotor wash carries for a decent distance in under normal circumstances. When it's the only noise for miles, miles is as far as it travels. We deployed by squads, forming concentric circles expanding to twenty meter spreads for the outside, ten meters for the next squad, five meters for the next squad, two meters for the final squad. Dante was the last to deploy. He was off-rope almost an instant after his boots touched dirt. Ten seconds after that the ropes were retrieved and the Chinook was gone.

Normally, we would make for the nearest cover, but when you're facing Zack, you wait until after the noise dies down and keep your eyes peeled for any curious zombies that may come staggering into view. Just about dawn we started towards a tree-line. We moved for maybe five hundred feet getting into staggered formation when Dante called a halt to everything. We had no idea what he was doing or why. He rallied Delta Squad and sent them out three hundred meters ahead.

Then he divided the rest of us and put us into four columns with three meters separating each man. It pulled us together somewhat, and was not something that we had gone over in training. We'd always moved in the conventional style. Later Dante explained it that spreading out meant that if one portion of the formation came under attack it would be almost impossible for the furthest ends of the formation to provide support. Keeping us close meant that we could meet any attack with a measured response.

**What about Delta Squad?**

They were our recon. They would scout ahead and then send someone back if they came into contact with anything more than five Gs. Otherwise they'd deploy snipers with silencers and take 'em out. It happened, a couple of times, where we would find three or four Gs sprawled out with their heads shredded. There was one or two times when one of the guys would come back with word of six or eight Gs. We came across twenty Gs gathered around a cow carcass. We sent a few guys up into the trees and they snuffed 'em all out before we moved on. We got to the operations area relatively easy and by mid-afternoon.

Command had chosen a good spot. It was a clearing almost a half-mile long by three football fields wide at the edge of this wooded area. There was a drop-off into a draw in the east, thick woods to the west, rocky terrain to the south, and a whole lot of nothing going north. We had to clear the grass a bit but we ended up with easy fields of fire and plenty of open space to fight.

Squads Alpha and Bravo took point and established a perimeter while my squad and Delta set up the pop-ups. By sundown, we all were safely behind the protective walls of our new base. It took three hours to set up our shelters and dig the latrines. Another hour or so later we got the radio up and running and established contact with the Rockies. I tell you the jackass that answered seemed surprised to hear from us?

The first night none of us could sleep. We all were waiting for the horde to descend upon us like starving locusts. My squad took third watch. When I reported to the wall, Dante was there which was weird because he was there when I tried to rack out. It had to be around two in the morning and he was still fresh-eyed. I wondered what he normally did out there when he was alone. I asked him.

**What did he say?**

He said that he couldn't sleep because where we were wasn't someplace he would have stopped to rest. He was looking off in the distance at these hills that were ahead of us in the east. I remember him saying this because of how odd it was and that it was the most personal thing he ever said. He said, "Those hills have boulders in them where you can stay and be safe. You can see a zombie coming for miles. In the winter, when it snows and the moon is full, the snow looks blue. And in the spring, there's a spot that's almost like a valley where there are wildflowers that fill the floor with almost every color imaginable. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

**Wow.**

Yeah, I never thought he would be so deep. You hear the stories and any humanity that he had gets stripped away. Then I had to ask him. I asked him what it was that he was looking for. I mean, I had to know.

**What did he say?**

He didn't. He just kinda smiled for a second and then left the wall. At first I thought that I had offended him or something, but after a while I realized that he didn't want to share. I guess some things a man just wants to keep to himself. Can't say I blame him.

After sunrise my squad and I went out on patrol and kicked up three or four Zack. We popped 'em and headed back to base without incident. The rest of the day, we spent setting up the airfield. Bravo and Alpha squads set up the walls while Delta squad cleared the land and leveled out the ground. We weren't aiming for landing jets there yet but you could put a small plane down in the area we had set up. My squad had the unenviable task of digging our forward fighting positions.

**You had the walls, why dig forward positions?**

It was one of Dante's ideas. By extending our fighting positions we gave ourselves a little room to work with; turning the walls into a place to retreat to as well as fight from. Plus it gave us time for extraction. We set up positions at two hundred, one hundred, and fifty meters. Each position had enough for two squads to do the fighting with two in reserve. We also dug shallow trenches in between just to trip up any Zack and buy us even more time. It took a ton of work and most of the day, but it was worth it, believe me. Once everything was set up, we sent back word that we were up and running and the waiting game began.

Day-to-day life was easy. Rise with the sun. Whichever squad had last watch went out on patrol and then manned the forward fighting positions. The remainder went about keeping everything working. It was boring work for a bunch of Spec-Ops guys, but that's most of our job anyway. Whether we're taking out terrorists in some small country or trying to scoop out territory from Zack, boring was usually the order of the day. During the day we worked on the up-keep of the base and the field. At night, we'd have small fires where we would sit around and tell jokes.

**I thought that you guys ran silent whenever you were forward?**

We did for the most part. Quiet talk was allowed. As long as the guys at the wall couldn't hear you, you were fine.

**How many skirmishes were fought during the mission?**

Surprisingly very little, which might have been the reason why the bulk of the brass called our mission a success. We had a few night attacks, which were kind of frightening. We couldn't pop flares to light up the battlefield because that would only just serve to draw more attention to ourselves. That was when we started using night lenses on the spotlights. They worked just fine. Still, it was eerie seeing Zack come out of the darkness into the red light. It made the heart skip a few beats on more than one occasion. Dante usually hung back until we fired our last shots. Then, he would lead the sweep up missions. After a decent fight, about fifty or so Zack, we'd usually have about five or six that managed not to get their heads blown off. We would send half a squad after them and you should have seen the guys fighting to get on that detail. I didn't get the point until I was selected to go after a fight.

I was with a group who had done the routine a couple of times. We went out three hundred meters past the edge of our perimeter and came across twelve zombies that were late to the shindig. I raised my rifle but it got batted down by a friend of mine. "If he wants our help, he'll ask." He pointed and I saw Dante walking towards them by himself.

He had his hammer and his shield down by his sides as he was closing distance. When he got close enough to the first one in line, he just kicks it over like flicking on a light switch. Another one comes in at his left. He brings his shield across, knocking its arms aside while whipping his hammer around his head and crushing its face. He steps into the swing and over the dead Zack and kicks down another one. He turns to the first, turning his back on the rest and brings his shield up to knock down a fourth behind him while crushing the skull of the zombie trying to get up. Then he does this move. I can't describe it. It's like this see?

**(He gets up from his chair and holds his spoon as if it was the handle of a hammer. He twists his wrist as if using the back end of the hammer and sweeps it up in the air, twirls his body and then brings it back down again with the other end leading.)**

See what I mean? He used the axe end of the hammer to take off the face of the second zombie he kicked to the ground and then brought the hammer down on the head of the fourth. I never saw anything like it. He just waded through them like some force of nature. I mean, I'd heard the stories but figured that most of it was just embellishment. I never thought that I'd watch this guy do… hold on, the last three? Let me tell you about them.

So he's down to three and we haven't even moved. One of them goes for him and grabs hold of his shoulder, right? Dante punches it in the face with the edge of his shield and it drops. He turns to the second and swings for the fences with both hands. He connects with the axe end and launches the top of this thing's head off into the distance. We were like, "Whoo!" Then he jumps up and off of a tree to get height and then drop kicks the last one in the head with both feet driving it into the ground. His weight sends its brains out of its nose and it just twitches and dies. We started cheering after that. Dante turns and stalks towards the first one that was just getting to its feet. He drops it with an old fashioned hammer smash.

We were like a bunch of guys watching a really good football game, but he was all business. He looked up at us and put a finger to his mask telling us to shut up. We did, immediately remembering where we were. Then he slung his hammer and gestured to the bodies as he walked past us towards base. I'm telling you it was the coolest thing I had ever seen. He was the hype. He was that good.

And that's how it was. Day one turned into day twelve, then day fifteen, then day twenty-five. We went on patrols, we kept up the landing strip and the base, and we took out whatever Zack wandered our way. Day twenty-seven we were ready to hang the "mission accomplished" banner and pop the champagne. Day twenty-nine we got a call from the Rockies from some General who gave us a verbal pat on the back. We were all smiles, plenty of dead Zack and not one man lost.

Day thirty came and went and we all figured that day thirty-one would be our day to go home. That day came and went. We tried calling the Rockies but got no answer. By day forty we were starting to get worried. We still had plenty of supplies, but our concern was at home. Had Zack managed to break through? Were the mountains getting overrun? It was possible back then. There were plenty of stories of soldiers that were sent on long-range patrols and scouting missions only to come back and find their bases swarming with Zack.

Day fifty we started running low on supplies. We kept on reporting status back to the Rockies but got no response. Hicks chalked it up to the government wanting to see what this station could do. It happens sometimes in the military. You get a new piece of equipment or come across a new strategy and you test it to your parameters, then you test it to the breaking point just to see how far it will go. I always said that leatherneck was too smart to be a jarhead. It was day fifty-five when the first wave of Zack hit.

**How many?**

That first wave had about two hundred or so. I remember because it was a Friday and it was raining something awful for the third day in a row. The base was starting to flood and we had our SEAL brethren dig some trenches to allow the water to drain somewhat. Doing forward duty was miserable; standing in ankle-deep water with more pouring in from the sides. We put up ponchos to keep as much water out as possible but it wasn't really working. At about three in the afternoon, the first contacts shuffled into view. It seemed pretty sparse at first and then the tree line was full of them. We readied our weapons and starting knocking them down. We ended up retreating to the one hundred-meter positions but did all right after that. Two squads went out on the sweep and clear. They kicked up another thirty or forty. I wasn't on that mission but I can remember the faces of the guys that came back. I could tell it wasn't good.

They said that Dante had gone ahead another half-mile. They said something had him spooked. I hadn't heard the term "spooked" used to describe that man… ever. Dante was behind them by about fifteen minutes. He stalked past us guys that were cleaning up the field and told us to stop, rearm, and get back into position. The look on his face made my blood run cold. I looked back at the tree line and started to get scared.

**What happened? What did he see?**

He had gone to the drop-off to take a look in the direction our friends had come from. Dante said that the draw was filled with zombies with more coming. We knew it was a possibility. We'd heard the stories and seen the satellite footage. A chain swarm was what it was. You've heard of it?

**Yeah, I've seen it.**

Sorry to hear that. A chain swarm was coming. I'm not sure how many zombies there were in all. We took over five hundred in the first couple of days and the swarm didn't show any signs of slowing. Every day we fought, taking as many of those undead bastards down as we could. Every night we called back to the Rockies for extraction, relief, or at least some support. We never got an answer. Then on day fifty-eight it all went to shit.

**What happened?**

Stand-to went as it did. My squad was coming off the line. A wave of about one hundred had come out of the trees along with a nice little deluge that turned our fighting positions into muddy pits. The last of the Gs had fallen and our rifles had gone silent, finally. We had managed to hold the two hundred meter line. Alpha squad came out to relieve us just as the sky was turning from a darker shade of grey to a lighter shade of grey. We moved back towards the base. I was already dreading how long it was going to take to get my rifle clean.

Then a shout came up from the line. When I turned around it was like every single G we had taken out had just gotten back up and started after us again. They came out of the tree line in droves. I had less than half a combat load of ammunition left, hell all of us were either half or just about empty on rounds. I turned back around and headed right back to the two hundred-meter line and took up a firing position with Alpha Squad.

We fought for two… straight… days. I don't remember ever fighting that hard for that long since. Even during Reclamation, the longest battle I was involved in was just outside of Philadelphia and it lasted twelve hours. Two days of continuous rifle fire. Two days of combat relief drills, running into the trenches firing the weapon, and then running out four hours later. Two days of that damned moaning from hundreds and hundreds of Gs. After a while a few of us were shouting back just so we heard something other than moans and rifle fire.

It got so bad that we started walling them up at the tree line. They'd fall where we dropped them and then we'd build a wall of corpses nearly ten feet high. It happened during Reclamation too. That would give us something of a reprieve so that we could reload and swap out. You could hear more Gs on the other side moaning and shuffling as they tried to push their way through. After maybe ten or fifteen minutes, the wall would crumble and the game would begin again. Two days. It was two long, drawn out days of twenty-four hour fighting. I don't know how we held it together. I really don't.

**Then what happened?**

Day sixty. Sixty days beyond The Wall in enemy territory. It was the longest stretch ever done by any unit ARU or otherwise. The rain let up just after dawn but it was still wet and shitty. The field was a mixture of mud, shit, and Zack blood. Their corpses were strewn everywhere. The fuckers were still coming. Our stores of ammunition were nearly depleted. We still hadn't heard a word from the Rockies.

**What was Dante doing during all this time?**

Aside from leading the sweep and clear missions, he was holding us together. He was going around talking to us, cracking jokes and trying to make us feel better about what was going on. He made a game of trying to keep track of our kills and inspiring us to have competitions to see who could drop the most in an hour. It sounds morbid and sick, but it kept us thinking other thoughts besides "Holy fuck we're gonna die!" He was doing whatever it took, telling stories, cracking jokes, poking fun, making us laugh; I mean outside of the walls of our little base there was wave after wave of Gs and the only thing standing between those monsters and us was fifteen men with rifles that were proven to be ineffective in conventional warfare much less against the undead. We should have been scared out of our fucking minds. I think I can remember cracking up at a joke he told about… Hang on… Damn, I can't remember, but the point is I was laughing when I should have been shitting my pants.

**What happened on day sixty?**

We'd been fighting for five days with, as I said, the two days of continuous fighting. What we didn't know was that the thousand or so Gs that we'd killed had been only the head of a huge undead snake that was coming. The body hadn't arrived yet due to the wonders of terrain. The draw forced them to bunch up which meant that they had been a bit delayed. Well they showed up and they showed up in force. We had shit for ammunition, we were shit-tired, and we were like… we were like a punch-drunk boxer that hadn't figured out he was down for the count. It was about noon when we surrendered the two hundred-meter line.

We walled them up six times but it didn't make any difference. They kept coming. We got to see some of those surges that Dante told us about. They punched through the walled up Gs that way. We got on the horn and opened a channel back to the Rockies and left the protocol at the door. We told them that we needed to be evacuated. Gunny Hicks told them flat out, "Get the fuck off your asses and come get us! Experiment over!"

**Did you get a response?**

No. The fuckers didn't say a word. Delta squad was manning the one hundred-meter line with Alpha squad in reserve. My squad and Bravo squad were inside the base loading some of the last bits of ammunition and prepping for a push to re-take the two hundred-meter line. When the shout came up, we didn't know what it was at first. Suddenly Alpha squad opened up with their rifles. We raced up the wall and saw the one hundred-meter line get overrun. A surge pushed the G front line right into the trench. Alpha squad moved up and laid down what passed for suppressive fire while we moved in and pulled out what was left of Delta squad.

**How many men were lost?**

Half the squad in almost less time than it takes to say it. It was like Yonkers. We pulled back to the fifty-meter line and the battle began again, but we knew it was only a matter of time before we'd surrender the fifty-meter line and we'd be defending our walls. Our ammunition was just about dry. Dante had stepped up his command role and was considering just pulling everyone back and prepping for a full retreat. He didn't want us trying to run with nothing in our drums but hopes and dreams. We still hadn't heard anything from the Rockies. It was looking bad.

**How long did the fifty-meter line hold?**

Twenty minutes. Walling them up was impossible at that point. Then one of those surges happened again and they closed twenty meters in less than twenty seconds. I give Alpha credit, they didn't shake. They had seen Delta get decimated and knew they were facing the same hell, but they stayed at their post. When Zack got within fifteen meters of the line, Dante had seen enough. He started barking orders.

**What did he say?**

He ordered my squad to the top of the wall with orders to open up on the one hundred- meter line on his signal. Those left from Delta were ordered to assist us. He had Bravo form up at the entrance and gave them the order to fix bayonets.

**He was leading them out to fight hand-to-hand?**

We were light on ammo and heavy on enemy. The field was full of walking dead. Dante was thinking about the run back to the Rockies. The mission was to extract Alpha squad and move them back to the base. In order to do that we had to halt the G advance. Up on the wall we would try and wall them up at the one hundred-meter line while Dante and Bravo squad would beat back the Gs at the fifty-meter line. I remember him leading them outside the base running backwards.

He ordered them to pair off, and form two lines. He told them to use the butts of the rifles to knock the Gs down, and the bayonets to take them out. He was very specific. He said, "Don't overextend, if it falls too far hold up and wait. If it falls too close, step over and let your buddy take him out. Watch your legs and stay together!"

He pulled his hammer off his back and drew that long spike of his as he turned back towards the Gs. Alpha's squad leader saw them coming and ordered a cease-fire as they arrived. Dante didn't even stop. I watched him leap over the trench and slam into the line of Gs full force followed closely by Bravo squad.

**What can you remember from the battle?**

My fight was one of marksmanship. It was actually pretty tame. We sent out wave after wave of lead at the one hundred-meter line trying to drop as many of the bastards as we could. It was even starting to work a little bit. The ranks of Gs that were making it across the line had thinned somewhat. When I was reloading, I would sneak glances down at Bravo squad. Man they were something.

I expected them to maybe take a few feet and then reach a stalemate but they were actually gaining ground. Dante stood out, of course. His arm would swing and one of the Gs would wink out of existence with a sharp impact and a spray of black goo and brains. He was wielding that spike of his too. It was like poetry in motion. And the others weren't too bad off either. Butt-strike thrust, butt-strike thrust. That was the mantra. After a while, a few of them started getting fancy with it, knocking down two at a time for their battle buddies to skewer. There was so much sound with rifles firing, men screaming, and Gs moaning. It was no wonder that we didn't hear the chopper until it swooped overhead.

**So the Rockies had heard you?**

Of course they did. The Chinook did a sweep over the battlefield and then settled in the established landing zone perfectly. Two squads of Marines came storming out and took our place on the wall while this cigar-smoking Colonel all geared up and carrying a weapon strides down the ramp and asks to see the ranking serviceman. Hicks reports to him and advises him of the situation, bitching at him for showing up at the last minute.

The Colonel, Jeffries his name was, ordered us into the bird for extraction. Hicks ordered us to proceed to the battlefield and lay down a suppressive fire with Alpha squad so that Dante and Bravo could make it back. Then Jeffries belayed the order.

**Wait, what happened?**

Jeffries belayed Hicks' order to us. He said that Bravo was lost and that Alpha had already been given the order to pull back inside. I turned and saw them entering the landing zone with the squads of Marines behind them. Hicks went ballistic. He ordered the Marines back to the wall but they kept going up into the bird. Jeffries pointed back into the bird. "You did a good job, Marine, carry on and follow orders." When Hicks refused he said. "This bird dusts off in five. That squad out there cannot be extracted. You can either save the rest of your men and be on it, or condemn them to death and not. The choice is yours."

**What did Hicks do?**

He gave the order and we filed into the bird. The Colonel continued digging into Hicks even after the wheels left the ground ranting about how he came "damned close to insubordination". The other Marines knew better and stayed the hell away from us. The pilot veered over the battlefield and we could see Bravo squad and Dante still fighting although they were trying to reach the base. They were starting to get surrounded. It was looking bad for them.

**(He pauses a moment before taking a breath and continuing…)**

A heavy suppressing fire would have sprung them and they could have made it back to base. We could have saved them. That's all I could think about on the ride back. Hicks sat alone off in the shadows. I knew he was beating himself up for not staying behind. It was the right thing to do. A hero would have done it, but the Zombie War wasn't a war for heroes. Not at that point at least. I remember Jeffries going around to the two squads of jarheads he had brought with him showering them with congratulations and promising medals for bravery and valor.

It took us an hour and a half to return to the Rockies. As we were circling in for a landing, Hicks stood up, fixed his bayonet to his rifle, walked up behind Jeffries, and speared the cocksucker right through his back. Jeffries' Marines did nothing. Hicks pulled the bayonet out and handed his weapon over.

**Jesus.**

Hey, that fuck showed up on our battlefield all dressed to fight and didn't fire one round down range. Then he has the balls to order us to leave our brothers behind? Fuck him. At the courts-martial we all testified that Hicks was suffering from PTSD. We had fought for five days without relief, remember? Outbreaks of violence are not uncommon among combat soldiers. It happens. Gunny Hicks was sent to a psych ward to finish out his term of enlistment with an honorable discharge waiting at the end. It was the least we could do.

**What was the result of the mission?**

Command stamped the mission a success. The geeks in DeStRes had all the data that they could jack off to. The brass gave orders to begin expansive operations and setting up outposts. Our unit was commended about a thousand times over, given some R&R, and then temporarily disbanded. They didn't want any more outbreaks of violence. We went into regular rotation for a while until they could figure out what exactly to do with us. Dante was declared "SNV". As far as the brass was concerned, he was dead.

**When did you see him next?**

About four months later. It was like out of the movies. I was guarding The Wall one dark and stormy night. We were hunkered down behind these rocks trying to stay dry. It was around three in the morning. I was having a cigarette and staring up at the rock face when this bolt of lightning blazes everything around me. On the wall in front of me is this huge shadow. I jump up and turn and he's standing atop the rocks getting drenched. I couldn't see his face because his hood was up. If we weren't halfway up the mountain, I would have taken him down. He raised his hand and dropped something down to me. It was this little leather bag. Inside the bag, were the I.D. tags of all the guys we lost, even the guys from Delta squad.

He didn't say anything. He threw me a salute and then disappeared. One of the guys I was with called it in before I could stop him. Command came back and advised that Dante was to be detained on sight. Officially we never saw him again.

**And unofficially?**

He crossed whenever and wherever he wanted to. As far as I know he never did another job for the government. He's probably the most popular deserter in military history.


	8. Chapter VIII

**Chapter VIII**

**Exile**

**(Interview with Jasper Dawkins continued…)**

**(We have retired for the evening inside Jasper's study. My host has provided a snifter full of whiskey. He has poured two generous helpings over four large cubes of ice. Together we sit in comfortable reclining chairs and sip at what Jasper calls "the burning nectar of the gods".)**

I remember when Dante came back after that whole military operation. There was no breakfast waiting that time. He had come back and had gone straight to bed. I didn't find him in the house until that evening when he wandered into the kitchen to get something to eat. He said hello and gave me a hug. He offered to cook but I had already started. He told me that the authorities may come looking for him, but he was officially retired from government service.

**Did they come looking?**

The FARC guy Cortez called a few times and the police stepped up their patrols in the area for a bit but that was the gist of it. I got a letter from the government expressing condolences regarding Dante's death. Dante and I read the letter sitting here just like we are. We had a big laugh over it. After that, FARC stopped calling and the police resumed their normal patrols.

**What happened next?**

I noticed a change in Dante. He was somehow, less himself. I think that he was starting to lose hope that he would find whatever it was he was looking for. I came out and asked him what it was that was so important that he needed to keep risking his life over and over. He'd only say, "The truth", nothing else. It was frustrating. I thought that we had gone past the point where he'd want to keep secrets from me. To tell the truth I was a little offended by it. I told him that he had three choices in this life. He could either, give up and do nothing, move on with his life and start over, or figure out his deep "truth" and finally come to some kind of closure. I've always regretted giving him that advice.

**What did Dante do?**

Well, he stayed put for longer than I thought he would. He even started seeing Donna again. Things weren't like before, though. They were cooler towards each other. I was willing to bet that she didn't want to invest all of her feelings with the possibility that she could wake up alone and find a note waiting in the kitchen. The holidays came and went and Dante was still here. He and Donna were still together and some of her coolness was starting to wear off. Claire and Paul had moved on with their kids so it was just the three of us. We were watching the news and word was coming over that the military had started setting up outposts and were moving supplies further and further east. Dante seemed disinterested with the whole thing. I hadn't seen him with his hammer in a long time.

**What changed?**

I don't know. One day, I found Dante in the yard swinging his hammer and exercising. The next day he was mending his armor. I talked to Donna first to find out what she knew. She had no idea. When I told her what he was doing, she broke down over the phone and hung up on me. I wouldn't speak to her again until after we heard about Winston.

Dante had found a hammer I had made in his absence and was training with it. I watched him for about a week before confronting him. I asked him if he was even going to tell Donna what he was doing. I asked him what the point was of trying to patch things up if he was only going to abandon her _again_.

**What did he say?**

He surprised me by getting angry. He told me that he tried doing it my way. He tried giving up and doing nothing and he tried moving on with his life, but he couldn't do it. He said that it was eating him alive not knowing the truth. Not being able to know.

**Know what?**

He didn't say. And believe me, I asked. Our argument will go down as one of the most heated debates in human history. Finally I told him that if he was leaving, he wasn't getting another thing from me. The hammer was the last thing I would make for him. I also told him… God help me… I told him that he was no longer welcome in my house. The next day, he was gone. There was no note.


	9. Chapter IX

**Chapter IX**

**Winston**

**(If you are a fan of Dante, this is Graceland, Mecca, and the Wailing Wall all rolled into one. I am talking about the town of Winston in Northwestern Montana. Nearly twenty years since the end of the war and the once-small city is now reduced to a rural village. At the height of the war Winston's population numbered close to fifteen thousand people. Now a mere thousand remain. Most of the current residents were residents at the time of one of the greatest battles in World War Z. The town has been converted to modern post-war era architecture while retaining some of the old-world style. It is as if the town had been physically elevated above the scourge that defined it.**

**At its outset, Winston was founded by Joseph Winston, a carpenter and former United States Marine from New Mexico. He, his family, and a few others fleeing during The Great Panic found a deserted suburb between the upper Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers. With the Rockies in the west and the larger descending Missouri River to the east, it proved an ideal location for settlement. Joseph Winston and his merry band built walls and made it their home. Those making the trip west found it to their liking and the population quickly grew.**

**During Reclamation, Winston became one of the major deployment hubs for Army Group North during their fight on "The Road to New York". Its hustle and bustle rivaled that of any major city. Once the war ended, its population saw a nosedive as most of its people, from somewhere else, decided to go home. Standing in what used to be the town square I close my eyes and try to transport myself back to the past.**

**The walls were pop-ups supplied by the government. The roads were in disrepair but passable. The expansion houses were crude in construction, more like log cabins than the modern marvels currently in their place. There were the smells of the war. Burning wood, animal and human waste, sweat in the summer; and the cruel almost metallic sting of frigid air in the winter. On my trip west during The Great Panic and back home after Reclamation, I passed through this place. It was larger then and the joyous anticipation of the return home was like an infectious disease that spread through all of us.**

**Moving through the town square I come upon the centerpiece. In the effort to become a national park and a historic monument, Winston restored several of the cabins that its residents used to live in and placed them in an exhibit-like fashion. To add to that they placed the only monument in the entire world that is dedicated to my cause.**

**The monument is made of bronze darkened to a roughened black by a means unknown to me. It is mounted on a granite pedestal that is decorated with a large plaque. The plaque reads, "**_**It is in honor of these individuals, that we, the citizens of Winston Montana past, present and future, dedicate our undying loyalty, respect, and thanks…**_**" I look upon the monument and find myself beginning to well up with emotion. It is then that my host finds me.)**

Welcome back to Winston, friend.

**(I give him my thanks and shake his hand. My host is Joseph Winston Jr. son of the town's founder. Joe is the spitting image of his father; tall and lean with dark hair. His Native American ancestry is evident in his facial features, though his complexion is lighter having lived the majority of his life above the snowline. I would speak with Joe Sr. but he died two years before. During my time here, Joe Jr. and I spent our days playing together. It has been close to three years since we last enjoyed each other's company.)**

You've come back looking to hear the stories again. You've heard my story about a thousand times but I did manage to find a few people for you to speak with. All of them were part of the Fabled Four Hundred. **(He hands me a list of names and contact information.)** They're waiting for you. When you're done, come and see me. We'll have a couple of beers and catch up.

**IX**

**(I've come to the home of Jordan Schilling. Nestled on the outskirts of Winston, the former Marine has a small farm where he raises some minor crops and a smattering of livestock. His homestead is a simple one and sparks images of Americana. When I arrive he is sitting on a rocking chair on his porch. I can smell pies baking and there is a fresh pitcher of lemonade waiting on a small table nearby. I also notice a rifle settled on a stand next to Jordan's chair. He sees that I notice it and smiles. He tells me that he hasn't had to use it for anything other than coyotes in almost five years. Jordan is a small man. He is also a bit overweight. He is bald with a small moustache and goatee. He invites me to sit and pours me a glass of lemonade.)**

Welcome to my humble patch of heaven, young sir. Junior told me you were coming. It's about time someone did something on our mutual friend. What would you like to talk about?

**Whatever you think is relevant. I'll edit out the ramble.**

Well how's about I skip the humdrum bullshit? In a nutshell, life here was fairly easy. I know that stupid movie has the entire country thinking we were like the frontier folk of old but that wasn't the case. **(Mr. Schilling is, of course, referencing the film **_**Winston's Finest**_** a Hollywood-styled account of the Battle of Winston)**__We had government support almost from the beginning. I mean, we were too far away to earn the protection of the military, but we got regular supply drops. This place was not the dirt-road simple-folk refugee settlement that Hollywood put out. I mean we did have wood/stone walls at first but then the government gave us the pop-ups. There were rifles so we got supplies of ammunition. Dante lived here with us. Hollywood made sure to leave him out. Oh, sure they made the leader of the Four Hundred this lily white blondie named David but that's as far as they would go with it.

**Here? Dante stayed here?**

Had a house and everything. He would pass through on his way over and on his way back. He'd stay here maybe three or four days before disappearing. Then he'd come back through, stay another three or four days and then cross back over. We were always glad to see him. Aside from being a decent guy, he helped us organize our security forces. Hollywood has the whole world thinking that the Fabled Four Hundred got cobbled together overnight. **(He shakes his head)**. The Four Hundred were just picked from the ranks of what we called Winston's Army. Before Dante we had two hundred rifles and that was our only means of fighting off Zack and the occasional raiding party. After Dante was done, we swelled our forces to close to one thousand people counting the reserves. Complimenting the riflemen and women was a sizable group of foot soldiers armed with clubs and spears.

**Tell me about Winston's Army.**

I served with the Rifles, obviously. I was a scout sniper in the Corps. We carried our rifles with anywhere from fifty to one hundred rounds of ammunition depending on whether you were patrol or at the walls. We backed that up with a club, a spike, and a shield. The Clubbers carried two clubs. Both clubs were made of metal with leather wrapped handles and three-pound weighted heads. They backed that up with a shield and a spike. The Spears carried one spear about six feet long with a wide blade about a foot long and a sharpened butt-cap on the back that was half as long. They backed that up with a club, a shield, and a spike. Everyone had leather armor in the form of jackets, chaps, and masks.

There were more Clubbers than Spears and more of both than Rifles. We trained and drilled every day. During the spring and summer months, we'd get enough Zack traffic that we became proficient in taking them out. Dante would drill us whenever he came through, and he'd train with us as well. Despite the going rumor, Winston was better protected than some of the border towns further south of us.

**What happened the last time Dante came through?**

He was actually on his way back out. He took up residence in his house and had been here for about a week. It was long for him, but I think that he was starting to lose hope with whatever it was he was looking for. He was probably psyching himself up for the trip. It was the day that he was supposed to leave when we got the news.

**What happened?**

It was about three thirty in the afternoon when a man came stumbling through the wheat fields and collapsed on the road that led back to town. At the time, I was one of the officers in charge of the wall, so me and three others waited an hour before loading our rifles and heading out. We came on him and saw that he was alive, but only just. The man was in dire straits. The weather was cool, but we exposed him anyway and searched him thoroughly for bites before we let him inside.

His name was Jacques Rouchard. He was from some French-sounding town south of Lethbridge, Alberta Canada. It had been overrun by a massive swarm that came from the north. To this day we're not sure where the swarm originated. Canada was a weird situation. Calgary was the best bet. Anyway, the swarm hit his little hamlet and he and three others made a break for it. He was the only survivor. He said they were coming. The first question out of our mouths was how he had come to be at our doorstep.

**And his answer?**

We're up the slopes a bit but obviously we're not nestled securely in the mountains. There is a gorge that runs down from Canada through the foothills of the mountains parallel to the Missouri. It dumps out north of here where, whatever river used to run through it joined the Yellowstone. The topography forms three hourglass shaped gullies bordered by walls of rock before it joins our little valley. Jacques' words had us spooked. Dante was being nosy during the proceedings. He took a detachment's worth of Rifles and headed north. They were back the next morning. It was bad.

The zombies would reach the first gully in less than two days. Each of the gullies was about two miles in length. He estimated that they would be here in five days. We asked him how many were coming. The look on his face scared the shit out of all of us. It was clearly more than he had ever seen and more than he had ever considered taking on.

Senior made the decision to evacuate immediately. The problem was it would take at least a week to get everyone out of here. I mean when the town was founded there were only a few hundred of us. Our evacuation plan called for all of us to pile into boats and then head down the Yellowstone and take one of the estuaries to end up in Davenport. When it was only a few hundred of us we could do it relatively quickly with enough notice. With the population we had, a week was the best we could do. In the meantime, they would be at our walls surrounding us and holding us in. We'd either starve to death or be overrun.

Making the proverbial mad dash into the mountains or heading for the lake were other options but each presented its challenges. We wouldn't be able to get everyone out and we wouldn't be able to warn anyone south of us. We needed time to organize to get everyone out of the way. There was almost bedlam and that's when Dante raised his hand.

**He volunteered to take them out?**

Son, are you nuts? There were easily ten thousand plus ghouls up there; over ten times the number of our army. Those kinds of stats do NOT add up to any kind of victory. You're not stopping a tsunami with a wall made of sandbags. That's one of the biggest falsehoods about him. He didn't lead us up there to kill the zombies. He took a few of our engineers back up with him on a second mission and they formed a plan.

Among them there was a guy named Bob Kaplan III. He was the grandson of "Crazy" Bob Kaplan. Bob III's grandfather was one of the founding members of Winston, God rest his soul. Crazy Bob was also a World War II vet and, as it turns out, a veteran of zombie combat long before any of us was swimming around the scrota of our fathers. He was a demolitions man in the Army and spent his parenting years teaching his son and grandson how best to make things go boom. Bob III said there was a spot that was narrow enough that he could collapse a portion of the gorge and bar those bastards from ever reaching the valley. I once watched his grandfather drop a tree with pinpoint precision using a blasting cap. I believed him. All he needed was the time.

The Army's normal chain of command immediately deferred full command to Dante. He decided on taking a small force to stand against the zombies. When it was done we had four hundred troops. Fifty Rifles, one hundred seventy-five Clubbers, and one seventy-five of the Spears were massed and prepping for deployment.

Dante met with the leaders of the companies and they plotted into the night. I can remember cleaning my rifle while my wife, God rest her, screamed and railed at me that I was insane and that I was going to get myself killed. I remember looking past her out my window and seeing some of my fellow crazies running around gathering supplies. Dawn the next day, we marched north.

**What did you take with you?**

We took ammunition for the rifles, a week's rations, shovels, twenty drums of fuel, a bunch of road flares, and five drums of ammonium nitrate.

**Where did you get fuel and the explosives?**

Uncle Sam. The fuel wasn't high-grade crude oil but a mixture made from gasoline and petroleum jelly. You couldn't power anything with it, but it was perfect for heating houses and for lamps, things like that. The explosives Bob III had made using that which we are all full of, crap.

**What did you all have in the way of ammunition?**

We all just had basic ammo; nothing fancy or special, like the government's incendiary rounds. We also didn't have much in amount either. I think we took maybe two hundred rounds per person up with us, if that. Conservation was critical.

**Okay, how long did it take you to get to the "Undead Highway" as it came to be called?**

We booked it to the gorge so it took less than a day's march to reach the first gully. That was where Bob III and his crew set to work.We left them behind and moved on from there passing through into the second gully. After leaving some supplies at the southern mouth, we made camp at the north end. That was where we made our stand. We based on the eastward slope while Dante got us organized. That was where he told us about Roman Army Order Thirty-seven.

**The Roman Empire's plan for combat with the undead?**

Yep. Dante figured that we didn't have the advantages of a traditional modern army so using a modern plan would be suicide. According to the other guy's survival guide, the Roman plan worked just fine up until Rome fell. It worked for them, it would work for us. Although, the northern end of the chamber was not the ideal battlefield to say the least. The walls were just high enough and steep enough but the terrain wasn't level. The only thing going for it was the mouth of the gully was just over fifty yards across. Like the Order said, we dug two inwardly narrowing trenches at about six feet deep and twelve feet across pocking them with some extra spears. We left a narrow passage in the center about twelve feet across. While we dug, Dante sent a few of the Rifles ahead to check on our adversaries. I was surprised at how quickly they came back. They only made it three-fifths of the way to the northern end of the last gully before the zombie traffic got too thick.

**You all put the fuel into the trenches.**

It took almost all of our drums to fill them adequately. We were done digging just after sundown. Once we were done, we moved back to the eastern slope and hunkered down for the wait. About a third of us had been working and needed to rest. Dante called the commanders of the companies together for a mission briefing.

He, Christopher Jacobs, and Leonard Blanks, a former Army Ranger and leader of the Spears mapped everything out. Dante would lead the Clubbers into battle on the ground with Leonard and the Spears making up a second rank. Chris would take us Rifles to an elevated position. Our mission was to create breaks in the zombie ranks so that the ground troops would be facing waves instead of an outright onslaught. They'd be able to last longer and give Bob and the others the best possible chance of completing their mission.

**Okay, not to insult your heroism, but my question is something that someone else has to have asked you. Why fight at all? They would have followed you anywhere. You could have used the slopes to stay clear and lead them back the way they had come. You could have stalled them for the time you needed. It is feasible that you could have accomplished your mission and never had to have gotten near them.**

**(He smiles and laughs at me.)**

You are correct, sir. Many people have asked me that very same question. However, what you and everyone else didn't realize was that the slopes of the Undead Highway weren't exactly ideal throughout. Some of them were very sheer and no one was climbing them, some of the slopes were impassable to the living dead but perfect for us, and some might as well have been flat. Had the topography allowed for something like that, believe me, it would have been an option. Then you bring up the sheer number of ghouls. Some of them would have gotten disinterested or distracted and continued on. If even a fraction of the group decided to continue south that would have sent too large a volley toward Winston. Our mission would have failed because of inaction. No one wanted to live with that.

Also, running from Zack is not just grabbing a bag and heading for the hills. I mean, if there're five or ten, or even fifty, speed is a good thing and a solid strategy, but with what was up there, you wanted to run and leave no trace of where you went. Believe me, Zack will follow you to the ends of the earth and if you leave a trace, any trace for them, they will find you. If you want to move the entire population of a small town without leaving a trace, that takes time and preparation. Believe me, every time it rains, I wish that we did not have to fight those ghouls, but I am glad we did.

**IX**

**(Though not in Winston, my interview with Robert James Kaplan III is just as relevant to the events that took place there. Mr. Kaplan lives and works out of Seattle WA as a contractor specializing in demolition. His business is a profitable one as older pre-war architecture is being removed for a modern post-war type. Mr. Kaplan is nearing his sixties but showing no signs of slowing down. He is of average height, barrel-chested with large arms and hands that seem to swallow mine when he greets me outside of his stilted log-cabin style home. We make small talk as we climb his driveway. His green eyes light up with laughter at my small jokes and he offers a few quips in return. Upon entering the home I meet his wife Alicia, a Black woman of about fifty-five. She offers me a seat and a hot plate of food. Mr. Kaplan digs into his own plate and soon Alicia joins us. After the meal, Mr. Kaplan, Mrs. Kaplan, and I retire to his living room with full glasses of bourbon.)**

I think I remember you now. You used to play with Junior?

**That's right, Mr. Kaplan.**

Oh cut the "Mr. Kaplan" shit. Mr. Kaplan was my father. I'm just Bob.

**Okay Bob, what can you tell me about your role during the Battle of Winston?**

Right after the Panic, Pop-pop, my folks, and I moved north and were in Davenport for a time before hearing about Winston. Pop-pop went up first and then sent word when it was safe. My father, Bob II but everyone called him "RJ", my mother, and I followed. I was just a grown man back then, getting over the death of my fiancée who we lost on the trip north. When we got to Winston we saw that they were just getting started but they had better leadership than Davenport so we decided to make a go of it there.

Pop-pop had been a demo guy back in WWII so his skills were put to use in construction. He had taught the trade to my father and I and we went into business. By the time all was said and done we had Winston up and running for the most part. Not too many people can say that they were instrumental in securing a town. Most of the bricks and mortar that formed the original walls came from buildings that we knocked down.

But that was history. The battle… okay, here's what happened. Word came down what was coming. Dante and I knew each other fairly well. When he came to me and said he was organizing a crew to get together and take a look at the threat that was coming, I already had an idea of what he wanted to do about it. When we left for the gorge the first time, I brought all of my surveying equipment. As the others were coming back all white-faced with fresh loads of shit in their pants, I was finishing up my calculations. Dante walked straight to me and asked if it could be done. We hadn't spoken of his plan prior but he knew that I knew. I told him "absolutely".

**Did you really believe that you could?**

At the time, I was not a man that subscribed to belief. I knew that I could.

**IX**

**(I've come to a coffee shop in the center of Winston to meet with Danielle Jemanski. I find her sitting in a booth in the back of the shop. When I sit, I can see that the booth bears a small plaque with her name on it. Two cups of piping hot coffee are waiting for me as well as a warm smile from my hostess. In her mid-fifties, she has the build of a thirty year old, but the looks of someone much older; a by-product commonly seen in wartime survivors. Her hair, cut short and as white as the linoleum on the walls, frames a friendly open face decorated with twinkling blue eyes. She takes a hesitant sip of her coffee.)**

They have the best coffee but they brew it at just slightly cooler than lava temperature. I'd wait a few minutes before taking a sip of that.

**Thanks for the warning.**

So you're here to listen to my tales of derring-do up in the Undead Highway, eh? All right, then, where would you like me to begin?

**Well first tell me how you came to be involved with Winston's Army.**

That's easy, they asked for volunteers and my hand shot up into the air fast enough to damn near take my shoulder out of the socket. Winston meant a lot for me and my family. When we made a break for The Wall from Kansas, it was the end of summer. Zack was everywhere. The group we traveled with was getting smaller and smaller and we were quickly running low on supplies in spite of the loss of people. When we crested the hills and saw the walls of this place I laughed and cried at the same time. This place saved my life, my daughter's life and my wife's life. I'd do anything to protect it.

**So you served from the time you arrived?**

From the time my family and I arrived until a bit after Reclamation when we decided to stay. The Army, the US Army, had pacified most of the area but the occasional outbreak and the odd migration from the southern areas still popped up. Once we got recognized by the state government as a municipality, I served on the police force until retiring about five years ago. At first I was a Rifle. I'm not the best shot, but just good enough to make muster. Once Dante came around, and we got a bit more organized, I became a Clubber. I know the stereotypical bull-dyke taking on the manly occupation of smashing heads may be frowned upon by some of my more liberated sister Lesbos, but it was easier than learning to use a spear and popping heads with bullets is always best left to the experts.

I was a squad leader in the Army when the battle came around. My commander wanted me to stay behind with the bulk of the army and help with the evacuation. Not because I'm a woman, just because I had the wife and kid. I told him absolutely not. No one was better suited to protect Barbara and Stacy more than I and I'd be damned if I was going to be left behind. I'd served through some of our more threatening attacks and came out the better for it. I was going and that was that.

**Did you agree with the evacuation plan?**

It meant safety for my wife and daughter so, of course. But, if you mean the fighting part, it was the only thing to do. Bob III and his people needed time. We had to give them that time.

**So what did you do during the Battle of Winston?**

**(A look of pride explodes onto her face as she sits up in her chair.) **I stood shoulder to shoulder with Dante himself. I remember the day we got all armed up to head out. It was chilly that morning and everything was covered with dew and moisture. Stacy brought Barbara down to see me off. My daughter was going on ten at the time and understood exactly what her mommy was doing. She put on a brave face for me though. It was hard to march away from her.

**Tell me about the first day of fighting.**

**(She sips her coffee.)** It was just after dawn. I can remember marching into the mouth of that pass and standing before that horde of stinking death walking towards us and wetting myself. I am not ashamed to admit it. As I said, I stood with Dante on my right. He just stared them down. It took them a while to reach us and I can remember that the Rifles opened up and scared the piss out of everyone. We watched the hordes in front of us either fall into the trenches or get splattered to shit and we started cheering. It felt good to watch them die.

The path we had created turned the flood of undead into a manageable trickle. As the first wave reached our end of the path, the Rifles on the walls dropped flares into the pits. Fire, smoke, and the stench of burning flesh burst from the trenches. The smell was strong enough that we stopped cheering and raised our masks. Dante did the same. He drew his spike and hefted his hammer. He brought his shield in front of him. "Watch your feet and stay together." That's all he said. We marched towards them.

I dropped the first two that came at me with two swings. The next several I could only knock down. I had this burly guy behind me with the Spears. His name was Telly but I called him Billy-Bob He was a real chauvinist pig asshole from Dallas. I can remember when he lined up behind me he said, "Ah don't care'n if you onlah like ta eat tha carpet, Ah's follow yer fine ass inta the gates a Hades hisself." Whether I'd let him touch my ass or not, he covered it quite well. He speared every single Zack that I dropped with a typical Texan's gusto.

It was hard fighting. It's amazing how hard zombies fight. It's like they know. I had a club taken quite a few times but we kept it up. We would fight and advance until we reached the trenches and then we would kick the bodies into the trenches, back off, and wait for the next wave. Above and beyond, the Rifles were popping Zed-heads left and right. After a while the anxiety level dropped and we just handled business. The Spears got their work in then. Some of them got outright cocky and stepped from behind us to take heads on their own.

It was easier going but we still fought like bastards. There was one point when the action got kind of thick. It was a surge, you know? One zombie further back trips and falls creating a domino effect until it turns to a massive push at the front. We were recovering from one of those when the next wave arrived a little early. Dante ran toward them. He got to one as it lunged. He ducked underneath it and heaved it over his shoulders. It flipped to the ground landing face-up in time for Jared, Dante's back-up, to damn-near spear the top of its head off. Dante spun with the throw and stabbed his spike through the temple of the next zombie in line before crushing the skull of a third. At that point the rest of us joined him and we started cleaning house.

Our line was strong. We were strong. The soon-to-be-named Fabled Four Hundred was firing on all fronts. The Rifles rained down hot lead and, along with the trenches, kept the number of ghouls in front of us manageable. Dante and us Clubbers either knocked 'em down or took 'em out. The Spears stood behind us making sure to mop up the mess at our feet. The plan was working.

**(Interview with Bob Kaplan III continued…)**

It was hard going for my crew and me. Not as hard as the Four Hundred had it further north mind you but hard, hard work. The rock was solid and unforgiving. We were using hammer and chisels to bore out our holes and set our charges. My crew was a decent size, about twenty guys, most of which had done demo with me before. Still we were trying to move about three and a half ton of rock without machines and do it at speed. We didn't know how the battle was going, but we didn't want them up there fighting forever either. We worked through the night and into the next morning. I remember hearing the Rifles beginning to fire. My crew heard it and stopped working for a few seconds but I got 'em going again. The battle had started and we would determine how long it would last.

We worked throughout the day digging as fast as we could and listening to the battle in the distance. We imagined that our side was putting up so great a fight that they would come marching around the corner at sundown proclaiming that we could stop digging and that the threat was over. "They're up there making all this bullshit for nothing," someone said. I don't remember who. Even still, I would have kept us digging. We were going to complete the job. Then the rifle-fire died. We obviously didn't know what was happening yet.

**IX**

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

Things were progressing well. The plan was working perfectly to the point that we would even stop firing for a time before having to reacquire targets. A few of us had gone up to a higher elevation to get a look at our enemy. They came down with reports that the rear of the zombie formation was thinning out. Talk of more than just accomplishing the mission began to creep its way through our ranks. Bob might not even have to blow the pass. We began to believe, what was the line from the movie? Oh yeah, "we began to believe that we could do more than defend the highway. We began to believe we could win". **(He rubs at his right hip)** We should have known better.

**When did it all go wrong?**

We had rushed to the battlefield and rushed even harder to get set up. No one did a proper recon of our fighting positions. Hell, even if we did we still may have missed it. Remember how I said the walls of the chamber weren't all the same? Well on the western slope behind the zombie line there was a natural ramp that led to a higher elevation than our fighting positions. From where we were not even the Rifles on the eastern slope could see that a decent sized number of those shuffling bastards were walking right towards us. The exit was behind and above my position by fifty feet and smack into the flank of our formation.

I can remember hearing the first screams and then the rifle-fire from my side just died. I turned and saw about thirty of the things fall on us from on high like a rain of death. The eastern slope shifted their aim away from the horde on the ground and tried to shoot around us at the new threat. Not all of their shots were well-aimed. A few of us were taken out by friendly fire. The majority of us had bolt-action rifles. We weren't used to having to rapid-fire those things. We were getting slaughtered.

Me and seven other guys were cut off. The things were pouring down the hillside like an avalanche. A bunch of them started towards us. I did my best to keep my head and started dropping them, but my buddies weren't soldiers. They panicked, their shots mostly missing their targets. Three of them just turned and bolted right off of our spot and fell on the wrong side of the battlefield.

Facing death or worse, I turned and jumped. We were twenty plus feet off the ground but I didn't care. I thought I could just bounce off the rock-face or something and slow my fall enough not to get hurt. I was wrong. The first impact knocked me away from the wall and didn't steal nearly enough momentum. I knew I broke my hip the second I landed. I almost landed in one of the trenches. Then I felt a searing vise as one of the ghouls burning in the trench grabbed hold of my leg…

**IX**

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

We didn't know what was going on above us at first. We were just facing off with the group of ghouls in front of us. Then rounds started bouncing off the rocks over our heads and we realized that the rifle fire was coming from a single direction. Then zombies started falling on us. You would not believe the bedlam. The Rifles on the western slope were lost and we were taking casualties from the side even as the enemy advanced on our front.

Dante turned to the new threat and started barking orders. Half our number turned towards the western slope, the other stayed and faced the ones coming at our front. I was somewhere in the middle. When I think about all of the moments where I could have gone left or right and how it affected my life, it boggles my mind. I decided to follow Dante. Billy-Bob went with the others. I paused for a moment, trying to find a place in Dante's formation. I found my place and was moving to fill in when suddenly the undead bastards surged again.

The new line bowed and then shattered. I stood there watched them get engulfed. An organized group of warriors became a writhing gaggle of falling bodies. I looked at the bedlam and heard the screams of terror and pain and could only just stand there. One of the Spears pushed his way free only to get grabbed by a ghoul. It bit into his neck and his blood splashed across my face. I felt hot blood run down my face and another dose of hot piss run down my legs.

People pushed past me trying their damndest to free their friends or get out of the way. I was still in shock. I was so terrified. I wanted to run away, but my body was frozen. Everything and everyone in front of me was dead, undead, or dying.

**What sparked you back into action?**

Dante; Dante saved my life by declaring his. He erupted from the crowd of bodies leading with his shield. He looked around and saw the state of things. I saw clawed hands and a gaping mouth lunging for him and he ended the dispute with a blow from his hammer. He pointed at the group of zombies coming at us and just roared. He didn't say anything; at least I don't _think_ he did. I remember a guttural bellow that seemed to shake the air. It shook me. I found control of my body and lost my fear. I turned to a few others behind me and rallied them forward. Together we formed a new line just beyond the heaps of bodies.

**Did Dante join you?**

No. He and some others fought ahead and pulled out a few of our comrades who had survived the surge. They didn't get many. In fact, I think they pulled out six or seven of the thirty or so guys that were overtaken. Conventional undead warfare says that _all_ of them are lost and that to attempt to save them is a futile and foolish quest, but if you see Old Man Schilling, he'll tell you he's glad that he fought alongside such fools…

**IX**

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

I was clawing in the dirt trying to keep the bastard behind me from pulling me into his fiery hell. It was a tug of war that I did not want to lose but did not expect to win. My rifle was just beyond my reach and I could see zombies start to overtake my position. They hadn't noticed me yet but it would be over when they did. **(He dabs at a tear with a gnarled knuckle)**

The demon behind me had its teeth sunk into the heel of my boot. I could feel it trying to chew through. I thought for sure that I'd feel another grasping hand and then broken teeth. Hands grabbed me and I was too terrified to feel that they were gloved. I was just praying the bastard would bite something vital and it would be quick. I didn't want to die screaming like so many I'd seen.

Then I was heaved into the air over somebody's shoulder and ran out of there. They took me over to the eastern slope and a few of my buddies pulled me up out of the way. I was crying like a baby while they asked if I was hurt. I managed to get hold of myself and tell them that my hip was done but if they could get me a weapon and put me in a good position, I could still shoot. A couple of guys pulled me to a decent spot and shoved a rifle at me. It was a few moments before I could collect myself.

**(He becomes emotional)**

I'm sorry. I tear up a bit every time I think about it. I forced myself to focus by assessing the battlefield. The war had gone from one front to two and the second front was causing just as much trouble as the first. The remaining Rifles were divided between defending the western slope and the original front so there wasn't enough rounds being sent downrange to create the wave effect that was key to our advantage. The battle had gone from a series of sprints to a marathon of swinging clubs and lunging spears. It was what a normal battle would look like with losses being counted on both sides. It didn't take a military genius to see that it was a losing effort. Then the bastards falling from up top started landing behind us and I knew we'd have to retreat.

Dante gave the order almost the instant I realized it would be coming. We had to pull back. The Rifles suddenly turned their attention fully to the front line and let loose a hailstorm of lead that gave the others a bit of room to work with. Still some of the falling zombies managed to land on a few of the Clubbers and Spears like bombs. That time no one stopped to help. There wasn't enough time and you'd risk getting bombed yourself. A few of my fellow Rifles came and got me. They hauled me up and bore me out of the way toward the fall-back point. Draped over the back of one of my brothers I watched as the Fabled Four Hundred tucked tail and ran leaving still-breathing brethren behind…

**IX**

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

**(She collects herself after a bout of tears. The other patrons in the café have been listening to our conversation. All of them show some form of reverence but a few have been moved to tears of their own)**

I remember not believing the order I was getting but turning and running all the same. I came pretty close to the western slope and heard the sounds of undead bodies smacking against the rocky ground behind me and jumping over the ones that landed in front of me. There was this guy, David; an accountant before the war but a brave rifleman for Winston's Army. He always had a kind word for me and some sort of present or favor for my little girl. This two hundred fifty-pound undead sack of shit fell on him as he was trying to run. The impact broke both his legs. He was still trying to crawl away as the ghoul was tearing into him.

I just closed my eyes and ran past him. I can sometimes hear him screaming my name and begging me to stop and help him. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I knew there were others being eaten alive but we had to complete the mission. **(One of the other patrons says, "You had no choice. You did the right thing." Danielle looks at them and offers a tight smile. She looks back at me.)** Doesn't make it any easier.

It didn't take long to get to the fall-back point. It was just the southern mouth of the chamber. It was larger than the northern mouth but was on the outside of a sharp bend that would diminish their numbers a bit. Retreating had earned us a few hours to regroup, and take account of our situation. Dante summoned the leadership and set them to work doing exactly that. Dorian, a member of the Rifles, took over as Chris had died on the western slope. He set us about taking stock of and tending to the injured. That is how I met Old Man Schilling. After a few minutes a group was formed to go and check on Bob and take Schilling and a few of the others that couldn't fight anymore. All told, Clubbers and Spears ended up losing about half of our number. Rifles lost half of theirs. The Fabled Four Hundred was down to just over two.

**What was the word from Bob?**

He was just about done digging. The charges would be set sometime in the middle of the night. We just had to hold out long enough for that to happen despite how whipped we felt. You can imagine there were more than a few of us that did not want any part of that. I have to admit that I was one of them.

**How many felt as you did?**

I'm sure all of us felt a certain twinge of hesitance and cowardice; some more than others. A few were beginning to question why they didn't just run with the others. Some of them even questioned Dante's leadership. I had just heard that Billy-Bob had fallen and could suddenly feel the weariness in my body. I think all of us just wanted it to end. My arms were vibrating as if I was still swinging my clubs. My shoulders burned and ached. My legs felt like someone had attached weights to them and I reeked of sweat, blood, and multiple doses of piss.

Dante and the others finished their conference. Dorian went to the remaining Rifles and started giving out orders. Jason Kratz of the Spears and Melanie George, a Clubber, trotted back the way we came. The rest were set to work. They began digging trenches. Not like the ones we had before. These hugged the walls of the gorge and resembled question marks facing each other. The trenches were only about eighteen inches deep, but they stretched for around fifty feet on either side. When the others came back from checking on Bob, they brought more fuel oil.

**What did you do?**

Well they filled the trenches with the fuel and then we were told to rest. The new plan had not been given out yet and quite a few of us were upset that we weren't being let in on the next move. They obviously weren't paying attention. The trenches that the remaining Rifles dug formed basically a runway so that we would be able to see what it was that we were swinging at and the Rifles could see who it was they were shooting at. We were going to fight again. We were just waiting for the opposition to arrive…

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

Upon reaching Bob and the others, I was placed in a position where I could provide cover if our forces in the north were overrun again. Once I saw the guys taking drums of fuel back up with them, I knew what was up. Bob III and his group looked haggard and I could see that they had been working almost non-stop, the same as we. I watched as they pounded their way into the rock using hammers and long drilling chisels. When they reached the proper depth, about the length of one spear, they would jiggle the chisel to work out some extra room and then mark the hole for the placement of a charge. They worked at the top of the eastern part of the mouth and the bottom of the western part.

Bob explained that one blast would knock out the foundation of the western wall, causing a rock slide. The second blast would bring a multi-ton section of rock down on the slide, effectively walling in the ghouls. They had the western wall completed and were flaking out line. The eastern wall was giving them some trouble but they would be done on time. I asked if there was anything I could do to help. Bob gave me a pat on the shoulder and told me that I'd done enough. The rest was in the hands of our friends in the north, the people working immediately to the south, and the "no-good cocksucker upstairs". Bob gave me another pat and headed back to work. I turned back to the north, where I hoped our forces were getting prepared for the next battle…

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

It was just after sunset when Jason and Melanie came trotting around the corner. Our "friends" were right behind them. The Rifles moved into position and dropped flares into the trenches. The fuel blazed to life and flames leaped into the sky. It kind of startled those of us who were sleeping. I know that sounds strange but there were quite a few of us who were too tired to do anything but sleep. Even I managed to get an hour or two. I was stretching my back and debating whether or not to take up my shield and club when Dante stood up.

This is going to sound so corny, but he was silhouetted against the flames from the nearby trench and was just this dominating shadow. He pulled up his mask and raised his hood before hefting his hammer and shield. He started towards our new battlefield as the sound of the moans got to us. Gradually we started to follow him. The trenches narrowed the field enough to make their numbers more manageable. I tell you it was surreal standing there all hodge-podge in a terrified mob. All the bravado that we had going into this mission and the audacious hope that we had earned was gone. We'd been mentally broken by an enemy that knew nothing of psychological warfare.

Dante stood in front of us and turned away from them to say something. "Are you tired?" he yelled at us. "Are you beaten? Are you scared? They're not! They're not tired! They're not beaten! They're not scared! We are Winston's last line of defense! If we're tired, if we're scared, if we're beaten, then we will fail! We've surrendered enough ground in this war. The line is drawn here; this far no further!"

We formed up into a wedge formation with Dante leading. His speech didn't get the stereotypical roar of agreement and defiance that you saw in that shitty movie. We were quiet. I mean there were a few that were roused instantly and gave grunts of approval, but the bulk of us were tired, we were scared, we were beaten. Then Jason started beating his spear on his shield. It wasn't frantic, just a slow loud metallic rhythm that was infectious and made its way through the formation. Soon all of us were beating on our shields.

Ahead, the zombies had reached the mouth of the trenches. Dante raised his hammer to rally us and the rhythm got faster. The temperature had dropped and our breath came in clouds of thick vapor but our blood was boiling. Dante's speech and Jason's drumming had reignited the fire within us. The line was drawn. This far no further! We charged them, actually charged them as the Rifles opened up with their first volley. We slammed into them in the center of the trenches and bowled a bunch of those bastards over. The Spears behind us took all of them out as we pushed forward. Finally, as we reached the curved part of the trenches or the "Horns" as we called them, we pulled back a bit and the battle really began.

The heat from the blaze was intense; more so than I remembered from our first skirmish. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I was sweating buckets as my arm rose and fell, rose and fell, each time jarring with the impact of metal striking skull. Dante and I were fighting somewhat shoulder to shoulder. There was a bit of space between us. I had once thought that his malice towards the undead wasn't personal. He killed them because he had to. He was brutal but there was little emotion behind it.

In the light of the fire, I could see his eyes. There was rage behind his arm. His swings were precise and devastating and very few of the Zack he sent to the ground needed to be speared. We managed to get them coming in waves again, like before but a bit faster. There was a lot of huffing and puffing. Our breath still came in thick clouds despite the flaming heat. During the breaks in fighting we'd pick up drumming again. Dante would pace back and forth in front of us shouting encouragement. Those times the words got the raucous roars that his first speech should have.

When the last wave hit us, I was paired up with Leonard Blanks the leader of the Spears, but I saw Dante fighting between the Horns with three Spears behind him. I remember this because it's the last memory I have of him.

He speared one ghoul in the thigh with his spike and levered it up into the air. It spun to the ground where one of the Spears took it out. Dante pounded the brains out of the next zombie in line and then brought the axe end into play on the third. He kicked and bashed the fourth and fifth aside for the Spears. Then he kicked the legs out from a sixth zombie; the last before another gap. It fell to its knees at his feet. Dante brought his hammer up and then down with both hands. The ghoul's skull shattered like glass, spraying its brains all over the field. With the strike came a massive peal of thunder that scared the shit out of everybody. Right after that, it began to rain…

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

I'm not talking a drizzle either. I'm talking forty days and nights. It rained like it had a mind. Water came down in sheets. I couldn't see the glow of the fires in the distance, I could barely see past my position. I even had to drag my sorry ass to another spot because water began running down the slopes into the gulley and my spot was starting to be more fitting a fish than a person. Bob and his crew scrambled like crazy to get the last of the holes done and the explosives protected. Wet explosive tends to be unstable, and we hadn't exactly kept it properly. Anyway, working like people possessed, they pounded, jiggled, and set charges. I remember looking into the wet blackness and wondering if we were going to succeed…

**(Interview with Bob Kaplan III continued…)**

When the rain came, I cannot tell you how pissed off I got. My explosives, for the most part, were improvised from manure and other odds and ends. They weren't the most stable. You add buckets and buckets of water and forget about it. We were setting charges when it started but it wasn't long before the holes were starting to fill with water. I rushed the last charges and started flaking out wire as fast as I could. The insane thought that I might have to blow the pass with our people still inside it flitted across my mind. I was flaking out the wire for the eastern slope when the Four Hundred came running towards us…

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

Nothing steals your thunder like having buckets of ice-cold water dumped on you from on high. In seconds we went from blazing crusaders to drowned rats but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that water was running down the slopes and into the trenches. The fire was being extinguished. It was like God had decided that we were going to lose the battle. Quite a few of us cursed Him.

Dante yelled for us to retreat. As the light from the fire died, the next wave of undead reached the Horns. Our advantage was lost for good. It was time to run, so we ran. I didn't get one hundred feet before the flames were completely washed out and we were plunged into total darkness.

I tripped a few times. Every time I fell I thought I would hit my head on a rock and be knocked unconscious or trampled by my friends and get pounced on by some ghoul. If it weren't for the people ahead of us shouting and calling, I would have probably run full tilt into the wall of one of the slopes, or been turned around and run straight back into the horde of zombies chasing us.

Every now and then lightning would flash and we would get a strobing view of our surroundings. I made the mistake of looking behind us. With all the running, I thought we'd have left the horde in the dust. That was not the case. They weren't right behind us but in my imagination they seemed a lot closer. Sometimes I have nightmares that I'm back there, running through the black and I look back and see them coming. Sometimes I don't wake up before they get me…

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

I think Bob was dropping the last charge when we caught sight of the rest of our army in full retreat. I can't say that I didn't expect it. With the rain and all, I correctly guessed that the fires had gone out. Without the fires, there was no point in trying to fight. A few buddies came and got me. They took me down into the gully and then out into the valley beyond. As they were taking me down, I saw what was behind our people and wished that my legs worked so that I could move faster.

Everyone passed through into the valley but Zack was not far behind. We were maybe three hundred yards away from the mouth of the gorge and Bob was scrambling to set up the detonation. He had one of those plunger boxes like in the old cartoons. He attached the first wires, the ones that led to the charges on the western slope and drove the handle down as the first bits of Zack were passing through. The ground shook. The western wall crumbled and slid down into the mouth of the gully just like he said it would. It was a shower of boulders and loose rock that formed a sloping wall.

Bob attached the wires for the eastern slope. He raised the handle and shoved it down. Only three of the five explosives went off. The slope didn't fall like Bob said it would. When the dust settled and we saw what happened, we were terrified. That fear was compounded by the fact that Zack was starting to climb over the lower portions of the rock slide…

**(Interview with Bob Kaplan III continued…)**

When the western slope came down I just about cheered myself hoarse. When only three of the five charges blew on the eastern slope, I almost cried. The ghouls were starting to come over the slide. Any number of things could have gone wrong and we were out of time to fix them. Dante ran over to me and asked what happened. I threw out the possibility that either the explosives were bad or that the line was broken. The latter being likely since we'd just retreated through my blast site. Dante took a flare and started running towards the mouth of the gorge. I yelled for him to stop. I really did. He yelled back, "If it's the line, I'll signal with the flare and you blow the pass!" After a few minutes I saw a light shining in the black torrent.

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

I was loading my rifle when I saw Dante running back towards the mouth of the gully. I heard Bob yelling after him. There were lots of people yelling after him. Amazingly enough, no one followed. It was maybe about three minutes later we saw a flare blaze to life at the slide. I saw Bob jump on his box. He shoved that plunger down and the ground shook again.

The wall separated from the slope and fell just like Bob said it would. It came down like… like… like Dante's hammer. We heard and felt the impact as it fell atop the slide, completely cutting off the Undead Highway from the valley and from Winston. There was a huge flash of lightning and we could see it. There were maybe thirty or so zombies that had made it through. The rest were either buried under tons of rock, or trapped on the other side.

The rain began to taper off. A few of the Spears and Clubbers lit flares and hurled them as far as they could so we could see. When the remaining zombies came into view, us Rifles took 'em out. After that, the Clubbers and the Spears went amongst the corpses making sure they were dead while the rest dug pits to burn them. I expected Dante to return about that time. When he didn't a few of the others went up with Bob to inspect the wall…

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

I was a member of the group that went to the wall. Most of the others went to make sure that none of the Zack was going to wriggle their way through. I went to look for Dante. The wall was solid. There were some spots where there were crushed gray limbs sticking out. One of them was still moving. We called for Dante and looked for him, but he was gone.

A few of us wanted to see if we could climb the wall and find out whether he was hurt on one of the slopes. Standing on the shoulders of a fellow Clubber me and a few others went up top. Bob did his job. Climbing that wall was almost impossible for us and completely impossible for them. I could see the ocean of undead crashing against the new rock face. We'd thinned their number significantly. Were it not for topography and maybe even the rain, we could have beaten them. What I couldn't see was Dante. There was no sign of him. He wasn't up the slope and he wasn't on our side of the wall. That meant, if he weren't blown absolutely to bits, or buried in the rock fall, he was thrown among them. We searched the undead faces and shuffling corpses but didn't see him. After several hours of searching we came back down, rallied up with the others, and started the long walk back home…

**(Interview with Jordan Schilling continued…)**

I remember the march back home was quiet. We had won an incredible battle. We should have been elated, and I believe that we were, but the cost; the cost of our victory, we all thought, was too great. Our number was halved and then some. We had lost brothers and fathers and sisters and mothers. Among them, we had lost our favorite, the country lost its greatest hero and Reclamation lost what would have been one of its greatest warriors…

**(Interview with Danielle Jemanski continued…)**

You've never heard such silence. Well it wasn't all silence. Quite a few people were grieving the fallen. I cried the whole way back to Winston. I cried for Billy Bob, David, and all the others we lost. I cried because I thought I could have fought harder and more of us could have gone home. I cried because I was happy that I had survived and I was going to go home to my Stacy and Barb. I… I also cried because Dante wasn't walking alongside us. Like I said, I fought shoulder to shoulder with Dante. If I had spent less time pissing down my leg and more time swinging my clubs, maybe he wouldn't have had to sacrifice himself for us…

**IX**

**(I find Joe Jr. tending to the garden outside of his home. His wife Sarah and twin sons Joe III and George are playing a game of catch with a Frisbee. Joe drops his hoe, greets me at the gate, and gives me one of his patented bear hugs. He guides me over to a small table inside his front yard where there is a bottle of pre-war Jack Daniels Single Barrel Whiskey unopened. He laughs at the look on my face. There are two tumblers and a bucket of ice. After pouring three fingers into each glass and adding exactly four cubes we sit, toast to nothing at all and enjoy a long sip.)**

I can remember when the remnant of the Fabled Four Hundred came home. About one-third the population had been evacuated down to Davenport with more ready to leave. When we saw the Four Hundred come over the hills a shout came up from the wall that was taken up and made its way through the whole town. Everyone and I mean everyone made their way to the front gates. My father and I went down to see if my mother made it back. She was one of the Rifles.

I had seen my father suffer through some incredible fear and doubt while getting Winston up and running. While the Four Hundred were fighting, he was working like a madman to get the evacuations done and keep a stoic face. When he saw my mother walking through the gate helping Susie Baker carry Old Man Schilling on a makeshift stretcher I saw him burst into tears. He waited until she set down her end of the stretcher and I thought that they would conceive my next sibling right then and there.

The news that the mission had been a success caused an almost orgiastic joy among everyone. People were dispatched to Davenport to tell the first evacuees and the Davenport government that the threat was over. We were safe. Bob was planning to make some more explosives and go back up to further brace his new wall but there would no longer be a need to fight. The mood was both ecstatic and somber as a great many family members got the news that their loved ones were not coming back.

That night we had a service in the center of town for the fallen. There was a large bonfire and words were said. Some of our best singers sang gospel hymns. We had several clergymen from different religions all of whom offered prayers of peace for those that had died and prayers of thanks to their families. The monument wouldn't be done for another seven years, not till way after the end of the war. Six months later, Army Group North massed outside of the walls of this fair town and announced that America was going on the offensive. Two and a half years after that, the population began to thin out.

**Did the government send any troops up to the gorge to clear what was there?**

The situation was not "tactically ideal" for a ground battle so they sent a few planes loaded with incendiary bombs. They blanketed the whole gorge in flames. We could see the smoke from here. After the fires burned out, they sent in troops to make sure nothing had survived. They found a few cooked zombies wandering around but that wasn't anything they couldn't handle. They cleaned up the bodies, tipped their hats to us and left. They didn't find any sign of Dante…


	10. Chapter X

**Chapter X**

**Notable Notables**

**(What follows are two of the dozens of stories that I've gathered during my time researching and chronicling Dante's deeds and adventures. These stories were validated but cannot be placed among the others in proper chronological order. **

**My first tale I procured in Sea Isle New Jersey. My host is a White man of about fifty years old. He is bald with quick eyes and an easy "aw shucks" smile. He seems eager to tell his story but I can tell that he is nervous.)**

UH, JUST SPEAK INTO THE MICROPHONE?

**No you can just speak normally and it'll pick it up, you don't have to bend over.**

Oh, okay. Well where do you want me to begin?

**Wherever you want.**

All right, my name is Jonas Franklin. I am a retired Corporal formerly of the United States Army. I was one of those left behind during World War Z. I was uh, stationed in a decent sized defensive position on the western side of Ohio with several units of the 10th Mountain Division. We were responsible for approximately one thousand civilians.

**Tell me about your time there.**

During Stalemate, we were lucky. We had access to the Great Lakes for food and water and being above the snowline meant we only had to deal with Zack two and a half seasons out of the year. That lake-effect snow was a bitch but it made for safer living.

Our commanding officer was a hard-assed bird Colonel from West Point. Graves was his name. He had a black and white view of the world, and how things should be but it kept us sharp. We had typical duties and kept our position much the same way as we would any post. Stand-to, stand-down, and patrols; we kept those duties in two-week rotations. We had post patrol; just the inside and outside walls from just after stand-to to just after stand-down. Then we had short-range patrol which took a full day to complete, and long-range patrol which took even longer.

Our patrol groups were four-man teams. On short-range and long-range patrol you'd go out and visit outposts that we set up, tree-houses basically, manned by two soldiers. The job there was to keep an eye out for Zack and signal back to base using a mirror during the day or flashlight or torch at night, whenever significant numbers got close. During Stalemate, you'd be surprised how far the glow from a torch could be seen.

The long-range patrol took about three days to complete. We didn't have manned posts that far out but there were ones built and lightly stocked. The mission was to visit those, man them for a period of a few hours each, and document what we saw. From those outposts we could keep an eye on the highways and the fringe neighborhoods of the formerly populated area nearby. We would note the amount of Zack roaming around and use those numbers to predict whether or not we could expect an attack. I enjoyed short and long-range patrols the most.

**Why is that?**

Life behind the walls of our position was BORING. Getting outside of them, for any reason, was a blessing. It was a way of escaping the unnecessary pomp and circumstance of military humdrum. I understand the need to maintain discipline, believe me. I've heard stories from a few places where the armed force went rogue, but there wasn't a whole lot of need for all of it. Anyway, it was during one of those beloved long-range patrols that our world came to an end.

We figured something was wrong when, on the way back, we passed the short-range outposts and didn't get a greeting from the teams manning them. When we crested the hill and got a look at home base, we saw that the place was completely overrun. We could see Zack wandering the walls. There weren't even any sounds of shots or screams from inside. A decent amount of them were roaming the open ground between the tree-line and the wide-open gates.

**If the base comes under attack, don't they send a signal of some sort?**

Yeah they send up a yellow flare first to get our attention at the outposts and then either a green flare or red flare depending on the situation. We saw none of it. To this day I don't know why. Being out as far as we were, we missed the whole thing. The manned stations had known something was wrong and gone running back to base. They were dead or moaning. The fight was clearly over. The base was gone. The civilian population had already been consumed, infected, or fled. The four of us, Bobby Flynt, Jerry Mackey, Lindsey Papis, and I just looked at each other. We went back to the closest outpost and got up and out of the way so we could figure out our next move.

You can guess that we were scared shitless. Not one of us was what you would call "G.I. Joe". We'd all joined the service for selfish reasons. Hell, Lindsey joined for the sake of his idiot father who had been a First Sergeant. He was a computer analyst by MOS not a grunt. He'd maybe fired his rifle six or seven times prior to that point. Bobby was a cook, and Jerry was a clerk. He'd seen some action but he wasn't the leather-faced, steely-eyed veteran. I had the training and I had downed a decent number of Zack before getting stuck in Ohio but I was no expert tactician. We stayed there for three days before coming to a decision. We were going to make for the Rockies using the snowline. Fall was about a week away and the first frost was due to come about a week after that. If we followed the snowline and kept our heads, our walk to the Rockies would be a fairly easy one.

Being of the highest rank and the only real grunt, I took command. We raided the outposts for ammunition and supplies and headed out. Using basic land navigation we got ridiculously lost. We almost walked right into Cincinnati. So then we just relied on the sun and basic direction and managed to get back on track. Right about the time the frost was supposed to show up and make our lives a bit easier, it didn't. We weren't where we supposed to be yet and the weather was still Zack-friendly. We wanted to be just on our side of the Canadian border. Up there the frost was coming in and Zack would be freezing for the winter. We were well south of that.

Then I came up with the absolutely BRILLIANT idea, I'm being sarcastic of course, to cut through Chicago and trace the lake all the way north to the border. Encounters with Zack were on the rise and our ammo was on the far side away from being suitable. We spent more time running than anything. Cutting through Chicago would shave almost twenty miles and nearly a week off our journey. All of our 'regs' and even the civilian manual said to avoid cities at all cost. The temptation was too much. I believed we could navigate Chicago in less than a day. In less than a day we would be well on our way to safety. We'd buddy-set/buddy-move through the city and not have to fire our weapons once. That was the plan. That was not the reality.

Chicago had been a nightmare during the Panic. Every street was clogged with cars and debris. We avoided the more car-clogged streets avoiding the zombies trapped inside them. We practiced good precise movement but it wasn't as much a straight-through as I thought. The clouds rolled in around four in the afternoon. The rain started around suppertime and it was pitch-black not fifteen minutes later with water coming down in Biblical amounts.

We kept pushing, even after sundown because we couldn't find a safe place to bunk in. Finally, soaked to the bone and freezing, we came to a barricade made from stacked cars. Lindsey made his fiftieth recommendation that we find cover and I was ready to agree with him. We moved to a building that turned out to be a shopping center and broke inside. I know what you're thinking, "You moron!" That sound about right? Yeah, I know now.

We had entered into an emergency stairwell. The lights on our rifles still worked so we put night filters over them before sparking them on. We went silent. I led us from the stairwell into a service hallway. It wasn't warm in that place, but it was dry. I thought that we could make use of whatever we found in there. Find a somewhat secure position, and hunker in for what was probably going to be a sleepless night of playing 'what the fuck was that noise?'

The halls in this place had concrete floors and concrete ceilings with sheetrock walls. Nice echoing effect. As hard as we tried, we couldn't step silently. Our boots, wet and squeaking gave away our position every time we moved. That's why I was amazed when we managed to sneak up on a group of Gs feasting on the corpse of a dog.

We rounded a corner and I was able to make them out before the lights from our rifles would give us away. We quickly backed off and headed through the nearest door into this goth-punk clothing shop. We secured the door behind us and moved through the store. There the floor was carpeted and all the fabric in the place muffled our squeaking boots and heaving breaths. A lightning flash from outside showed us how big the shopping center was. Three levels around a large food court. Across the way I saw a big sporting goods store whose gates were still down. The place looked secure. It would be perfect for what we needed.

We moved out of the store and into the main corridor staying in standard formation with about three meters between us. I covered the front, Bobby and Lindsey covered our flanks and Jerry covered the rear. The food court was underneath a plexiglass dome allowing some light from outside to come in. It was just enough that we could douse our lights and still see well enough to move. Lightning flashes would give us split-second views of our surroundings and the pounding rain masked our footsteps. We crossed into the center of the food court among the tables and were nearly there when this blast of lightning lights up the place.

It was so bright I thought the building had been hit. It completely whitewashed our vision for a few seconds. I stopped where I was, so did Lindsey and Jerry. Bobby tripped over a table and went crashing to the floor. The sound seemed louder than the thunder that followed the lightning. Dots flickering in all of our eyes we looked around and found him bent over the edge of a table cursing and rubbing his eyes and his stomach. I wanted to laugh at him and I probably would have but the moans earned all of my attention.

Lindsey yanked Bobby to his feet and we instantly took up fighting postures. Jerry called "contact" as a group of Gs came shuffling from our rear. Our silencers had long lost their usefulness and rifle-fire would draw more attention than we needed. I gave the order to move forward and we took three steps towards the sporting goods store when Bobby called "contact".

A bigger group was coming from our right. Lindsey joined the others in finding enemy targets approaching. I ordered us closer together as we moved across the court but then another bolt of lightning revealed that we were surrounded. I frantically looked around for a way out but I couldn't see anything. Lindsey was asking for the order to fire. The zombies were closing ranks on us. I had made up my mind and was going to try to get us back out the way we came when _they_ showed up.

**They?**

We heard things zipping by and suddenly the Gs to our right went down. Then the Gs in front got taken out. I could see people running in the shadows and then the Gs on the left got clobbered. This kid stepped where we could see holding this compound bow with arrow notched and fired the thing over my shoulder to take out a G coming up from behind. He told me not to fire my weapon and to follow him while the others finished up. He didn't have to tell us twice.

We followed him out of the food court and into a service hall where we went up a flight of emergency exit steps to the office suites above the shopping center. The kid introduced himself as Tyler and told us, "it's damned lucky he saw you coming in." He asked us what door we broke into. I told him.

The office suites had been turned into a ramshackle apartment complex. The desks and shelves had been taken out of the cubicles and tents were set up inside. There were at least one hundred people living there. Tyler took us up another flight of steps where we met with this big guy named Burt.

Burt was the one that laid everything out for us. He was the leader of the group. They called themselves the Nomads. They had control of several buildings in Chicago where refugees were holed up. He said that we had stumbled into the one area of their building that they had yet to pacify. I thanked him for spotting us and sending the group of guys to pull our asses out. Burt just shook his head and told me that I was thanking the wrong person. "I didn't spot you and if it was up to me, you'd be dead. No offense, but we got families and children up here. Night is no time to be fighting Zack indoors. I didn't decide to save you. _He_ did."

I turned and saw him standing among a group of kids. He was dressed in that leather suit everyone talks about, but he didn't have the hood thing on. He looked at me and threw me a two-finger salute. Burt showed us where we could rack out and asked us the usual questions, most of which we had no answers to. We told him our story and he welcomed us to stay with them. Lindsey took him up on the offer. Bobby, Jerry, and I decided to move on the next day.

**Did you manage to speak with Dante?**

Yeah, he got around to talking to us later that night. He was a cool guy. He gave us a map of places where we could hole up on our way to The Wall. Lindsey gave over his supplies and his weapon and ammo after he decided to stay. The next day we were following Dante's directions out of Chicago.

We followed the route, ran into no Zack, and were well outside of the city limits and the local suburbs when nightfall came on. About two months later, we reached The Wall. I told the commanding officer about Dante and he started laughing. A few of the other guys started telling me stories and I felt gypped. I never got to see him fight. I didn't even see his hammer.

_**Author's Note: Research has revealed that the Nomads, a former motorcycle gang, occupied and secured ten buildings in Chicago's downtown and uptown areas. Burt was found to be Burton Reed a veteran of military service. Government records indicated that the Nomads remained at their post throughout Stalemate and notations from reports submitted by ARO-D name the Nomad-occupied buildings as safe-houses for military personnel performing operations in the Chicago area.**_

_**The Nomads were reported to have dispersed upon reclamation of Chicago. Further records on the activities of the Nomads have not yet been found. A motorcycle gang bearing their name does continue to exist though primarily in the southwestern United States. Burton Reed was given honors at ceremony in Chicago five years ago. He died the following summer of cancer at the age of sixty-five.**_

**X**

**(At first glance, my host is an unremarkable man. I use that description to preface this chronicle because he and others describe him as a "king". He is Mortimer Feldstein, a 59 year-old former superintendent of a now-demolished prominent high-rise that dominated Philadelphia Pennsylvania's Society Hill neighborhood. Mortimer, or "Mort" as his friends call him is just shy of five feet seven inches tall, weighs a pudgy two hundred ten pounds, and is nearly bald. If not for his gregarious and even ostentatious personality the man would fade into obscurity almost the instant I enter his presence. Still he greets me warmly, shaking my hand and offering me a seat complete with a drink of bourbon.)**

It's nice to meet you, young sir. I doubted your dedication until you showed up at my door. How has your quest fared thus far?

**I'm quite pleased at the progress that I've been able to make. Thank you for asking.**

How may I assist you?

**Tell me of your encounter with Dante.**

That is an easy tale to tell. I will start with a bit of background. I saw you study me upon your entrance. I know that you, like others believe me innocuous. It's quite all right, and quite correct. Prior to my ascension to power, I was nobody, as innocuous as a man could get. I was but a servant in a palace of great nobility. **(He peers around me and takes a sip of bourbon. After a moment he seems to relax.)** Sorry about that, I have to keep up appearances or things tend to get complicated. I hope that little act of mine didn't throw you off.

**For a moment, it did.**

Yeah, well it's a bitter necessity. Anyway, like I said I was a bum, a complete nobody. I was the super at… can I say the name of the building? Ah, it's easier to just leave it out. I don't want the former owners getting their balls all twisted. Like I was saying, I was the super at this high-class swank joint where the rich and famous liked to live. I was the go-to guy for management when it came to maintenance. I kept the place in damned good shape for its age. There wasn't a part of that building I didn't know or a single item I couldn't turn a wrench on. Being a live-in super, I was always on-call and made sure that those stuffed white collar shmucks and red-carpet walking yentas had blazing lights, flushing toilets; baking heat in the winter, and freezing cool in the summer. I made ways out of no way.

**How did you come by those skills?**

I got my associates, bachelors, and second PhD at M.I.T. Engineering was my game. I originally worked for the government and then a select few tech companies before making my way to a shithole apartment in that testament to stepping on the backs of the little guy. I can see you're wondering how a former white collar badass ended up a blue collar shlub. The answer lies at the racetrack, A.C., Vegas, and anyplace else that I could lay down a bet. I was a horrible gambler. Don't get me wrong, when I won, I went on streaks that would see six, seven figures end up in my bank accounts, but then I'd blow the money just as quickly. Three jobs, several IRS audits, one foreclosed house, a divorce and loss of child custody later, and I find myself unclogging toilets for the rich and famous.

**Were they aware of your education?**

Nope, and before the war I gave them no clue. I was trying to kick the gambling habit and hit the "reset" button on my life. Having a super that can quote Shakespeare in Latin tends to raise a few eyebrows. A couple of inquiries from the wrong people and I'd end up back on unemployment. I just made myself essential to their needs, kept my head low, and did my job while I took my twelve steps.

**How were you treated?**

How do you expect I was treated? Like the kid who delivers grit. I was their personal doormat. I always took too long to show up to their critical emergency, took too much time to fix the problem, and was never grateful enough that they suffered my presence. Don't get me wrong, some of them were civil. Those that went from not having money to having money knew what it was like. They treated me with dignity and respect. To the rest of them, I was a pest they were forced to tolerate.

**What happened during the war?**

Well the Panic hit Philly in full force just before Yonkers. Philadelphians are not a stupid group of people like the idiots in New York and L.A. want the rest of the country to believe. We saw the writing on the wall and the city began emptying out. I chose to stay. Not being an idiot, I knew that Philly is above the snowline, and that one of the safest places to be was in a high-rise, provided that no one inside was infected. Most of the tenants got scarce with the rest of the city. Out of those that were left, I was able to get a decent look at them all. Those that had the look, got narc'd on. The rest, I forgot about while I made sure that I would be comfortable.

I had ensured that my apartment was set up to have its own electricity via a solar powered generator, carefully set up on the roof. Once a few friends in the government started sending me doomsday e-mails, I collected plenty of non-perishable food and began storing water in little pockets of secrecy in the basement. I also bought a hunting rifle, a shotgun, and a decent stock of ammunition. As the city was beginning to empty I made a few suggestions to management. I got access to the fire stairs restricted, closed off all exterior access to the basement, and I shut down all elevators except the freight elevator, which was always under my control.

Management offered me a tidy sum to stay behind and secure the building offering placating assurances that the crisis would be over within a reasonable time and that I would be further amply compensated upon the return of normalcy. I didn't believe half the shit they were telling me, but, hey, where was I going to go? As soon as management bailed, I secured the lobby, shut down the elevators, and hunkered in for the wait. Just about when the Fightin's should have been talking about the playoffs, Philadelphia, my building in particular, was a ghost town.

At first, Zack was as thick as fuck just about everywhere. Those weren't locals, though there were a few. Naw, they were from up north from numb-fuck New York. Once they started coming around fairly regular, I painted over my windows so that I could have lights at night. During the day I would patrol the stairwells and the basement. The lobby doors were made of glass so they didn't last before the living and not-so-living knuckleheads broke in. There was a catwalk on the Mezzanine level where you could stand and get a full look at the lobby. After the doors got taken out, there were always a few zombies loitering around. They never stayed long and I made sure to stay out of sight.

At night, I was in my apartment with the door braced, just to make sure. I was always a light sleeper so the slightest noise would wake me up, even coming from outside. It was a noise from inside that woke me up one night just before Thanksgiving. Someone was attempting to break into my apartment. I remember jumping out of bed and grabbing my shotgun. I loaded it with shaking fingers. I only had my weapons as a last resort; I didn't think I would actually use them. My mind raced as I got into my "fighting position", jeez, I just knelt behind my couch. What had I missed? Was someone able to break into the fire doors? It would take a while but if you worked at it long enough, you'd be able to.

I kept my lights out, completely used to the darkness of my apartment by that point. There was a flashlight I had taped to the underside of my shotgun. When the door came open, I'd turn on the light and see what had come for me. If it was a person, maybe I'd reason with 'em. If not, I'd take out as many as I could before making sure that I wouldn't be around for the finale. After several bashes, the brace gave and the door swung open. I flipped on the light and found one of the tenants, a hotshot corporate lawyer standing in my doorway covering his eyes. Behind him was another tenant, an accountant for one of the larger financial firms in Philly. Looking around the lawyer, she could see that I was armed. She begged me not to shoot.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I yelled at them.

"We didn't leave!" she said. "We thought they'd get everything fixed. Now the power's out and the water's out and we've got nothing to eat. Please don't kill us."

Ever the arrogant ass, the lawyer says, "He won't shoot. He knows what's good for him."

I replied with reason, "Oh, I won't? What's going to happen? You see any fucking cops around here, bub?" That pulled him up right and quick. He went from high and mighty to "now let's not do anything hasty". From them, I learned the extent of the situation.

First, they were two of thirty. The others had scoffed at the idea at coming to find me. The accountant had wandered down to my floor on several occasions after the Panic and she saw light coming from under my door. She knew I was still there. No one else believed her. The lawyer had only come down probably to look brave enough to get into her pants. They were out of power, out of water, running out of food, and out of ideas. The accountant told me that someone was actually planning to leave the building and go to Penn's Landing to try and see if he could sail that big boat restaurant down the Delaware and out to sea. He figured it was possible since he had a boater's license.

I asked if anyone had gone down to the lobby. Thankfully all the bluster and braggadocio was just that and they hadn't done anything stupid yet. I let my two guests in and closed the door. I got my robe and made sure my guns were good and hidden before telling the accountant to take me to the others. On the way there, the lawyer actually asked me to turn on the elevators. He really was a putz. We took the long way up. I found the others massed in the lawyer's apartment.

**Who exactly was there?**

Now, now, I've signed several confidentiality agreements in the time since my reign. I don't intend to renege on my word. You want those answers; you'll have to find out on your own. I'll say this; there were actresses, an actor, and a few business-folk. In any case, they were surprised by my arrival, my apparel, and my demeanor. Instantly the old attitudes returned. I was to restore power to the building so that they could use their lights and their televisions to monitor the situation. I was to go to the local grocery store five blocks away and get food. I was to restore water to the building so that they could shower. Oh, and I was to do all of this immediately. Once the lawyer made it known that I had a weapon, all the alpha males began baying for it.

"I hunt every season" and "I've been on safari in Kenya" and "You clearly can't handle a weapon". I listened to their ranting and raving taking a seat in one of the lawyer's chairs. Finally they stopped demanding and just stared at me.

"Are you all done?" I asked them. When no one answered, I continued. I told them that they were not going to get a damned thing from me. I would not be restoring power to the building. I calmly told them that we would attract every single zombie that was able to see the lights. I also told them that every marauding sociopath that was able to survive beyond our walls would be burning down our doors, which would bring the zombies as well.

I advised them that they would not be getting my weapons and if they wanted to test my ability with firearms they were welcome to try. It was a bluff of course, but white collar arrogance will always fold under the might of blue collar determination. I also told them that I did not have enough food or water for them all. They immediately erupted, offering everything, and I mean everything for a share of my bounty. I had an Oscar nominee offer to place her talented lips on the darker aspect of my white tuchus in return for food.

I calmly told them that none of that would be necessary as I too was running out of food and we were a long way off from Reclamation. I had been mulling over some ideas for getting food. They were completely silent. I told them that if they wanted to survive, they would have to do exactly as I said.

**How'd they take it?**

The smarter ones would have taken notes if they could see properly. The skeptics started murmuring. People with the lawyer's mentality left the room. After a while one of the more elder businessmen was able to bring everyone around. The following day we set to work. Above the penthouse apartments but below the roof there was an observation lounge that was just a large room with huge windows. In the past, it had been used for hosting "ain't I just the richest, most wonderful fucker?" parties. Now I had a better use for it. I had a few of the snottier folks go around to all the apartments and loot them for their plants, well the soil anyway. Any plants would be either dead or inedible.

I took some of the more robust individuals and we went down to the bottom of the stairwells. I had an idea to further secure our little home with the careful application of wrenches. I had those boobs dismantle the stairs at the bottom while I installed pulley systems creating a "drawbridge" effect. It was just after noon when I went back up to the observation lounge and found hundreds of pots of good soil. I was right that none of the plants were both alive and edible, but the soil was the important part. I had the lawyer rip up the carpet exposing the foam pad underneath and then the rest of them started dumping the soil onto the floor while I built a border and walls out of wood studs from the abandoned apartments and plastic sheeting.

**You were building a greenhouse?**

Yes.

**Where did you get the plants?**

We got everything from the apartments. The power hadn't really been out that long and the temperatures allowed for some preservation of foods like tomatoes, peas, and one bowl of apples that had one good apple left and allowed us to grow a miniature orchard. Some carefully applied plastic tarp and, boom, instant greenhouse. Thanks to my hunting buddies, we set up a coop on the roof that was perfect for catching birds, plus some smaller traps in the basement that were good for catching rats. In three days we had begun either growing or catching all the things that we would need to eat. The big problem was getting water.

**How did you manage that?**

It posed an interesting problem. I decided to attack it from multiple angles. First we set up rain catches on the roof using tarp and troughs from the basement. The greenhouse only took up half the observation lounge, so I put up some more tarp and made a giant dew trap. Then there were the urine stills. We didn't have running water so everyone, me included, was pissing in buckets and then I was using the urine and sunlight to make water. Once I got the place's old boiler up and running I set up some condensation traps down there.

**The building had an actual boiler?**

Yep. They updated the heating/cooling system in the mid-eighties going completely electric. My solar generator was not pumping enough juice to power the building's heating system, so we used the boiler. I reattached the vent system and then as long as I had fuel I could heat the majority of the building. By Christmas I had all of the duct work done. I had everyone moved onto the same floor so that I only had to heat those units plus the observation lounge. The last thing that I needed was fuel and that was easy to find.

**Where did you find fuel?**

I got my fuel from, literally, the pompous asses of my new charges. After mulling it over and making several attempts with some very attractive and very antique furniture I found a constantly renewable fuel source. It was the one thing that all of my charges and I were completely full of… shit.

**You used human feces?**

Yep. Burns slow and we were constantly making it. Plus, the way it burns leaves a char that can be re-burned with the next batch. That was a nice job for the lawyer in the beginning. He got to go around and collect piss for the stills and shit for the furnace. After a while, I felt bad for him and started rotating the duties. By New Years we had sprouts in one half of the lounge and were making about two gallons of water a day in the other half. The rain catches were yielding another seven to twenty gallons in a moderate storm. The condensation traps were getting a decent amount as well. The birds left when the weather changed but we were getting serious catches in the traps in the basement. Rats, mice, squirrels, cats, whatever managed to crawl its way into the building to avoid being eaten by the zombies ended up being eaten by us. All things considered, we lived pretty well.

**All thanks to you?**

Indeed, young sir, all thanks to me and they knew it. In return for keeping the place going, I got whatever, whenever, and however I wanted. I moved into the penthouse apartment with all the accruements that it had to offer and there I sat, king of the building and ruler of all I surveyed. It was a wonderful existence.

**So how does Dante fit into all this?**

He showed up one day in the summer and was standing in the lobby when one of the others walked by on patrol. They said that they crossed the mezzanine and there he was. He saw them walking by and just waved. He pointed at one of the fire doors and, for some reason, they let him in. At first I was more than a bit upset, but he assured me that he wasn't looking to stay permanently only that he just wanted a place to crash for a few days. When we were alone, I laid down my conditions, and he said, "Fair enough". As far as I'm concerned, I got the better of the deal.

**What was the deal?**

Like I said, I lost everything to my gambling addiction; my life, my wife, and my son. I was born and raised in Philly but left to pursue my career. I only came back because my wife and son were living in Mantua. When The Great Panic hit the City of Brotherly Love, things went south very quickly and I was not exactly talking to my family. They didn't even know I was back in town. By the time I tried to make contact, all communication lines were being used by the city for emergency management. I couldn't make the trip out there. It wasn't safe. I mean, they live less than ten miles away and I couldn't even get to them. It had been an eternity since I had seen them and I wanted to know if they were okay. I gave Dante their address and told him that if he could find out what happened to them, he could stay with us permanently.

After we talked, he left. He was back the next day with a letter from my son. My ex and he were alive and holed up in one of the high rises that belonged to Drexel University. They were doing well and were happy to hear from me. I can't tell you what that meant. Prior to Reclamation, Dante came back about five more times, and every time he had letters from my family. He'd only stay a day or two but then he'd be gone and he'd take letters to them. My gambling and stupidity caused the loss of my family. It was because of Dante, that I got them back.

**(The door opens. My time is up. I stand and give Mort a hearty handshake) **

**Thank you for your time and your information.**

My dear, sir, it was a pleasure to have you. If there is anything, and I mean anything that I can do for you, just send word to my advisor here and I will make sure that it happens. You have the word of the king.

**(His Highness' "advisor" is an orderly at a county-run psychiatric hospital just outside of Philadelphia. I've been told that I cannot reveal the location of the facility just that it exists in Montgomery County. He executes a deep bow and ushers me outside. I ask him if he believes anything Mort says.)**

You betcha. Everything Mort told you is one hundred percent the truth. He was a big-wig working for the Department of Defense before his first meltdown which led to careers at **(companies' name withheld for legal reasons)** before he finally ended up the super of that building. He did everything he said he did. Come here and take a look at this.

**(He shows me Mort's visitor log)**

Most of these are fake names, of course, but here. **(He shows me pictures of some of the most famous and influential individuals of our time. He does not correlate images to pseudonyms)** Barons of industry, super-hot models, actresses, and financial wizards were in that building and all of them owe Mort their lives. None of them have forgotten that. They all come and see him on a regular basis. This guy right here, he comes to him for professional advice. Mort has almost a fifty percent share in that guy's engineering firm. Those two stop by and see him just because and this chick here comes by every Tuesday for some physical therapy if you catch me.

**I can't believe it. (And I can't) But if it's all true then how did he end up in here?**

When Reclamation hit Philly, the Army came knocking. King Mort had a bit of a breakdown and actually attacked the troops that came to his door. Why he did it was anybody's guess. He took that hunting rifle of his and emptied a magazine at them. They managed to take him down without killing him. It looked lights out for him. They were going to just brand him a psycho LaMOE, a Last Man on Earth, and throw him in jail but that's when King Mort's subjects came to his aid.

The lawyer mounted a most spirited defense and, instead of spending the rest of his life taking it in the ass in jail, he's poking the pooper of **(name withheld for legal reasons)** in here. You see all that furniture in there? None of the other rooms have those kinds of amenities nor do any of the other patients enjoy the same privileges that he does. He's done the easiest time and he's about finished. His case comes up for review at the end of the month and I know just like you do that he's not crazy.

His little breakdown aside, the closest he comes to crazy is like a fox. When he gets out he'll be worth several tens of millions of dollars. Oh, and he's kicked his gambling habit; doesn't even play cards. He's going to waltz out of this place filthy stinking rich with one of the hottest women in the world salivating at the thought of being able to suck the life force from his scepter.

**Unbelievable.**

Whatever you wanna call it, bub, but it's the truth. It's like Mort always tells me, "It's good to be the King."


	11. Chapter XI

**Chapter XI**

**Speculation…**

**(Interview with Peaches continued…)**

**(We walk along the beach on the eastern shore of the island. Peaches is wading in the shallows of the warm water as the sun sets. She plucks a strand of hair behind an ear and digs her toes into the wet sand for a few moments. Her expression and mood has turned somber. Our conversation has turned to other subjects of her time surviving and the fates of some of those she called family.)**

**Have you heard of how Dante was supposed to have died?**

Yeah, everybody knows the story.

**Do you think he's dead?**

I can't say for sure, but I will say this, collectively we hoped that Dante would find his way back. Like our friends at the snooty resort, though, we never heard from him again. A lot of us wondered what it was he was doing and whether or not he had survived beyond our little island. A bit later on, a plane flies by overhead. A month after that, another one goes by. This one drops a bundle of supplies. Food packets, seeds, literature on desalinization techniques, and tips on using wind energy for power. All of it is stamped US Government. We weren't starving, parched, or ignorant and our gardens were putting out good crops, but it was nice to know that the mainlanders hadn't forgotten about us. While we were all sorting out what to do with everything, the consensus among us was the same. Dante had made it. That consensus hasn't changed…

**XI**

**(Interview with Justin "Brother Thomas" Boudreaux continued…)**

**(We are outside now. Brother Thomas is tending to his garden. The sun is almost gone and soon it will be time to retire for the evening. I plan to spend the rest of the night gathering information on the Order as there is nothing much else of Dante for Brother Thomas to tell. As the last rays of light fade on the bayou, Brother Thomas lays down his spade and directs me towards the chapel entrance.)**

**Are you aware that Dante is supposed to be dead and how he was to have died?**

Gotta cousin up Lafayette tell me when he come back after the war.

**Do you believe it?**

Even seein' him do what he do an' all. I's figure it's possible he's gone from this world. He never say why he wander like he done. Maybe he was like ole Zack yeah? He wander 'round with his mind focused on one thing, killin' everythin' an' everyone he know. He's always hungry fo' what it is he lookin' for but never full. It's like he's trapped cryin' out t' be free. If'n he is dead, then he be at peace. If'n not, he's still wanderin'…

**XI**

**(Interview with CSM Emory Wilson continued…)**

**(The CSM stirs his coffee carefully. He takes a fastidious sip, wincing slightly at the heat. He sets his cup down and casts quick glances around.)**

**I'm sure you heard of how Dante was supposed to have died?**

Everyone has, sure. Do I think he's dead? I don't know. I hope not. I hope he is alive. I've heard stories from guys during Reclamation that he was skulking around places like New Orleans and Philadelphia. Either way, one of the last orders I send up will be for a Medal of Honor for him.

**How could he get the Medal of Honor?**

He was an ARO; Advanced Recon Operative. During the war, whether they were servicemen or not, those guys got sworn in and were given rank the same as us.

**What branch of service would he have fallen under?**

Generally whatever branch of service was convenient. According to the records, ARO designate "D" was officially a Corporal E-4 in the United States Army from the moment he said "so help me God." He may not have worn our uniform, toted our rucks, or fired our rifles, but he was the epitome of everything it means to be a soldier. And if it is the last thing I do, his name will be added to that sacred list of our most heroic patriots…

**XI**

**(Interview with Lawrence "L John" Henry continued…)**

**(We are outside as he inspects the damage done to my car. He scowls for a time and then assures me that he can get the slur removed from my paint.)**

**Did you hear about how it was that Dante was supposed to have died?**

There ain't a single one of us that don't know the story. A couple of years ago I even looked into a fellow Marine that was living in Winston at the time. He said that he was one of the riflemen that went up and fought. I'll give you his name and stuff. You can get a lot of good information from him.

**Do you believe that he died then?**

After talking with Jordan, I'm not sure how he could have survived. His strategy was more refined but he was facing far more than just five hundred undead. Hey, I hope he made it. He was a good man and a great fighter. I wish I could count him among my fellow Marines, he sure had the heart, but even in death, he saved how many lives? Aside from the people living in Winston, it was a gateway to the front lines at the base of the Rockies where there were countless others living, not to mention the settlements in the plains states that would have been overrun. I can't remember how many he took into battle but I know it was very few versus very many. That, by itself is a massive feat. In a time when running made the most sense, he chose to stand and fight. As far as I'm concerned he didn't need to survive to be a hero…

**XI**

**(Interview with David Chon-Tsu continued…)**

**(We finish up our meals and reconvene at the base of the monument to the Zombie War. Mr. Chon-Tsu is finishing a tale from Reclamation. He pauses at the monument, snaps to attention and gives it a salute.)**

I like to do that whenever I walk by. There are a few of my fellow soldier's names on that plaque. Plus, I like to honor the ones who fought but didn't wear the uniform.

**I'm sure you're aware of how Dante was supposed to have died.**

We all know.

**Do you think that was the truth?**

I've heard a great many things. I've heard stories that he didn't even fight at Winston. I've heard that he was supposed to be somewhere in Chicago and even down in Nashville during Reclamation. Is any of it true? I don't know. But, he survived our mission. Somehow he fought his way free of that horde and made it back. Could he have survived Winston? Yeah, I think so. He was one tough motherfucker…

**XI**

**(Interview with Adrian Cortez continued…)**

**(We're sitting outside of his home sharing beers. Slightly tipsy, Mr. Cortez is in the middle of a very spirited rant. I am holding up my recorder and sipping my beer as he continues…)**

You really wanna know what the best thing was about your vaunted hero? I'll tell ya. It was his ability to bring people together. Unification was his greatest strength, not that stupid suit, not that big fucking knife, not that shield, not even that hammer. No matter where he was, no matter who he was with, he was able to bring people together. Had he survived Winston and been able to forgive Uncle Sam his trespasses, he would have made one hell of a recruiter for FARC.

**So you believe that he died in Montana?**

No, I'm not a believer, I'm a pragmatist. They didn't find his body because he was either blown to shit, or he was thrown among those ghouls and eaten, but that's not my point. My point is that Dante's greatest strength was his ability to unify those that were around him regardless of their personal views. What, you don't think we didn't know about his stint in that legal Nazi den in PA? Look at what he did there. That kind of ability is lost to us.

**Oh?**

Take a look around. The world has changed. Mankind is not the same as it was back then. Look at what's taken place. Organizations like the scouts have dropped their religious ties and fully integrated themselves into the primary education system of this country. Why do you think that is? It's not to "be progressive" like they want you to believe. It's more so that basic survival skills including the use of firearms get drilled into the heads of our children at an early age. Now you have pre-teens who can splatter brains at three hundred meters. In high schools, wood and metal shops were electives before the war, now you need them to graduate.

**The result is a more productive and useful population.**

Wrong, the result is a more _independent_ and _self-sufficient_ population. Do you know why we came together back then? It's not because we all realized that we were one species against another and that our brotherhood and commonality was our greatest weapon, or all of the bullshit spouted by any and every politician trying to get elected. It's because we didn't have a choice. One person, one neighborhood, one city, one state, one country couldn't do it alone. We needed each other to survive. That's not the case anymore. Look at post-war architecture with the stilted homes becoming _regulation_ instead of some intuitive luxury.

**Stilted homes that connect to one another; is that the isolationist future you see?**

Homes with _retractable_ bridges that all feature their own solar powered generators and water filtration units are exactly the isolationist future that I see. Those homes are populated by people who've been trained to survive an outbreak since kindergarten. I'm willing to bet that you probably live in one of those communities.

**I do.**

I saw you scoping out my accommodations up here. You were sizing the place up. It's great, right? It's out of the way, hard to get to, and easily defensible. All of those are good things, but this isn't my haven in the event. I bet that your spot isn't your haven in the event. I bet that you've got someplace out of the way yourself. I bet that you've got plans on how to get there. I bet you've got plans just in case you can't make it back to the house in time. I bet that you've got your route planned out along with an alternate route and an alternate for the alternate. You've taken everything into account. You know what your plan doesn't include? Other fucking people! **(He takes a triumphant swig of his beer before waving an arm)** Hey don't worry about it, you're only human and you're not the only one.

When the next global outbreak happens, and it will, it will start the true doomsday clock for mankind. There will be no Honolulu Conference; there will be no sharing of information or pooling of resources. There will be no blue-clad saviors carrying SIRs and marching defiantly against the undead horde. We've bred ourselves to be our own saviors. Survival has become easier than conflict because it's what we've been trained to do and requires the least effort.

Evolution demands that a species adapt in order to survive. Well, Darwin would be stroking it in his grave because Man has done exactly that. In response to the threat, we've adapted not only appropriately, but predictably as well. One big outbreak that goes just beyond control and we're back retreating behind our mountains and rivers or atop the mesas or into the faces of the cliffs. Except now people know the Redeker Plan and will be planning and doing whatever they can _not _to be the group left behind.

In the confusion, the human race will spiral headlong into the realm of the endangered species. Mankind will shatter like a pane of glass to the furthest reaches of the world to survive while the undead reshape this planet into a lifeless ocean of nothingness with small islands of dwindling humanity. Properly isolated, reproduction will slam to a halt. In a desperate effort to quell the ancient voice buried in our DNA demanding the propagation of the species, we will break away from our training and seek each other, bringing about escalating combat with the undead and, ultimately, our extinction.

**That's less pragmatic and more morbid with tinges of defeatism and pessimism.**

Is it? All it takes for what I said to come to pass is for one country to have a significant outbreak and not want to be the next China. That's _everyone_, including the good ole' US of A. Trust me when I say that governments are back to the old business of keeping secrets from each other. One decent outbreak, that's all it will take to begin the final act of mankind. It'll start the new, "more productive and useful" population into motion against and away from itself. When that happens it'll be the end, and there won't be a Dante around to save us.

**XI**

**(Interview with Jasper Dawkins continued…)**

**(We've been sitting in his study and managed to empty his carafe of whiskey. I stare at the swallow left in my glass almost transfixed by the low lamplight playing off the amber liquid. Jasper is leaned back in his chair, his empty glass next to him, his eyes closed. He is not sleeping. He is contemplating his answer to my final question.)**

You know, for months after word came back over The Wall about Dante, I refused to believe it. I had the utmost faith that I would wake up and come down to a ready-made breakfast. He would be standing at the stove, his hammer chipping the tiles on my counter. He had always come back. When Reclamation began, I believed that he was out there, ahead of the military making the Army's life easier and sending word to the survivors that America was returning. When VA Day was declared, I listened to the radio constantly waiting to hear some word of a "hooded hammer" sighting. I just knew that I would come down to that breakfast and he would have many stories to tell over many bottles of whiskey. He would forgive me for my harsh words and all would be well again. Alas, that breakfast never came.

Here is where my story turns a bit depressing. I'm sorry, son, but he is dead. His last act on this wretched earth was to blow that pass on the Undead Highway and stop those rotting bastards from ever making their way south. In the war against the undead he made the ultimate effort and the ultimate sacrifice.

That realization was very difficult for me to deal with. I can't recall exactly how many days I spent just grieving. I loved him with all my heart. He was my family. He was my boy and like any father, I was proud of him. Like any father, I still am.

**XI**

**(Interview with Joe Winston Jr. continued…)**

**(As the sun surrenders its heavenly reign, Joe and I are walking through what was the center of town. The fading day has brought a bit of a chill but Joe chases that away with hits from his hip flask. The Single Barrel was too good to leave behind. We come to a stop at the monument and take turns nipping at the flask.)**

It is a beautiful statue. When Joe Muhammad agreed to take on the project we were overjoyed. I mean, the guy has got statues in just about every major city you can think of. He's world-renowned, but just because Dante was NST like him he dropped what he was doing and took the job. He came up here and put all of our feelings into this statue.

**(The statue is made of darkened bronze and consists of one figure standing atop a base shaped to look like natural rock. The figure is Dante, dressed in his armor, his shield on his left arm, his hammer clutched in his right fist. The figure stands resolute facing north and the field of battle where it is believed that he fell. His hood is up, casting the face of the statue into shadow.)**

If you look you see that his face is masked. That's because none of us could agree on what he looked like. The one thing everyone agreed on was his eyes.

**(I look and can see a resemblance to the pictures I examined at Jasper Dawkins' home. The metal-worked eyes of Dante are piercing as if issuing a silent challenge. I ask Joe my final question.)**

I don't know. He never came back here. I wasn't raised in an era where optimism and hope were the norm, remember? If there's one thing the war did it was to plant the seed of pragmatism in all of us. What are the odds that he survived the blast? What are the odds that were he thrown among the zombies, he would survive without infection? What are the odds that if he did survive, that he would not make his way back to us? The answer to all of those questions is somewhere between nil, and impossibly remote.

Some of the survival theories that I've heard over the years have sounded very plausible, but I can't believe that Dante would not come back at the end of all things. Who knows? What made Dante great was his penchant for accomplishing the nil and impossibly remote. Maybe he did survive. Maybe he went on to help during Reclamation. Maybe he's settled down wherever it is that he came from and the war for him, like so many others, is just a series of nightmares and bad memories. It is a pleasant thought. The legend that was Dante leaves ample room for faith. I don't know anything about that. I do know that without him, we'd all be dead. For us he stood against a maelstrom of horror. He let that storm unleash its fury upon him and, when the time came, he chose to pay the ultimate price for his bravery and courage. We owe him everything.


	12. Chapter XII

**Chapter XII**

**In Summary…**

**And so it is. After three years of wandering and researching I end my journey with more questions than answers. I have gained a great deal of insight, but I find that it is all lacking with the bigger questions going unanswered. I have a wealth of testimony but little in the way of concrete evidence. Dante's place of origin, the object of his quest, and even his death are still shrouded in an impenetrable cloud of mystery.**

**It has become obvious that we may never have those answers. The deepest secrets of one of the war's greatest heroes remain kept. While I cannot say that I am fully content with the result of my labors I can say that I am not fully disappointed. Dante's story has been compiled and, if you're reading this, my submission has been accepted, duplicated, and distributed. A record of the work of this great man will live on, forever. To Mr. Cortez' "independent and self-sufficient society"; read this and know what faith, compassion, and unity can bring. If there is anything to be learned from the chronicles of Dante it is that a man is less his origins and more the sum of his deeds.**

**So who was Dante? I've asked that question of others. Now it is my turn to provide an answer. Dante was a man from a place of anonymity who, for all intents and purposes, came into being during World War Z. In mankind's darkest hours he was a wanderer, a warrior, a protector, and a friend. Even in the arguable narcissistic pursuit of his obsession he found the time to fight alongside and for those who could not fight alone. Dante was a man tortured by a mysterious demon-like purpose that possessed him to roam the infected American landscape and wade through undead horror in search of an unknown prize.**

**In his quest he made countless friends and left an almost tangible imprint on those he met. Whether alone or with allies by his side, he managed to do tremendous good in a time when no good deed went unpunished and the wages of bravery and courage could have meant a fate worse than death. He was the physical embodiment of man's capacity for greatness, honor personified. He was the man. He was the myth. He was the legend. Ultimately it does not matter whether he lived through or died during the Battle of Winston. What matters to everyone who knew him and even to those who knew him not is quite simply that he lived.**


End file.
